


River Grit

by VillaKulla



Series: Desert Sand [2]
Category: The Magnificent Seven (2016)
Genre: Childhood Memories, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Not Goody's, Period-Typical Racism, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Reverse Domesticity, Storytelling, long conversations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-03
Updated: 2016-11-12
Packaged: 2018-08-28 20:07:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 40,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8461240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VillaKulla/pseuds/VillaKulla
Summary: /grɪt/noun:1. small, loose particles of stone or sand; a major constituent of riverbeds2. courage and resolve; strength of character.verb:1. 'to grit' (the teeth), in order to keep one's resolve when faced with an unpleasant or painful duty.Goodnight and Billy have been on the road together for three years and things have never felt more comfortable. And when their travels trickle over into Louisiana, Goodnight and Billy decide to pay a visit to Goody's childhood home. But staying in a house begins to bring back some traumatic memories, and not for Goodnight.Not the story of how Goodnight Robicheaux and Billy Rocks got together, but the story of how they stayed together.





	1. Part 1

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so...this is not an action/adventure, romcom, or a super formulaic fic, so writing this was wayyyy outside my comfort zone haha. But I had an idea for a 'reverse domestic' fic for them and it kept poking at me and wouldn't leave me alone, so I decided to try writing it to see what came out and what came out was this: another three-parter relationship story that ended up being the sequel to Desert Sand. This was...not the plan haha. And once again I'm sorry I can't keep anything short:P Thank you for reading and I really hope you guys enjoy!
> 
>  
> 
> Things to know:
> 
> \- This is entirely a sequel to Desert Sand in my mind, but you're welcome to read it as a standalone 'established relationship' fic if you like! There's a little crossover but not enough that this one wouldn't make sense by itself. More than being a sequel, I really consider this one to be a counterpoint to Desert Sand, and very much the yin to its yang
> 
> \- In some ways Desert Sand was a bit of a love letter to Goodnight. This one is my love letter to Billy.

 

 

 

 

_ Louisiana, 1871 _

 

 Billy sunk back in the clear water, taking a breath as his head dipped below the surface, his hair fanning out around his face in inky waves. He blew all the air out of his lungs, his chest contracting pleasantly, and he sunk to the bottom, lying peacefully on the rocky creek bed.

 

He’d grown up by the ocean, and when he’d first arrived in America it was just about the only part of the place he’d liked. He hadn’t spoken a word of English back then, and the constant _noise_ had overwhelmed him: harsh clamor that he couldn’t make heads or tails of, this unfamiliar language surrounding him, grating on his senses. The loud garbled words would make his head spin in frustration until he would take off sprinting towards the beach, running over the dense sand with his legs pounding until he hit the water and would dive headfirst, plunging into the surf and letting the waves crash over him, enveloping him, pulling him into their quiet.

 

It was another world beneath the water and it would immediately engulf him with its thick, rushing peace. His favourite moment was the immediate plug as his ears went under and he became fully submerged, the drop in volume intoxicating. Nothing but a heady pressure all around him, the faintest ringing in his ears, and the indistinct pulse of an undulating sea. He’d try to hold onto the sand, his body lifting and rising as the waves rolled over his head. He would stay down as long as possible until his lungs were burning and his eyes were stinging so that he could leave surfacing until the last possible second.

 

Thirty years later and Billy still enjoyed the water. But these days he also enjoyed leaving it, because for the first time in his life there was something to look forward to on the other side.

 

Billy surfaced with a gasp, sunlight streaming into his eyes. He shook the droplets from his hair and stood up waist-high in the stream, collecting water in his cupped palms, splashing it over himself, reveling in the cold bite against his skin.

 

“Ah, the prodigal harbor seal returns,” said a voice from the shore.

 

Billy grinned. “Have you ever seen a harbor seal?” he asked the man who was striding around the campsite and haphazardly throwing things into bags.

 

Goodnight Robicheaux glanced over, his face dappled by sunspots that winked through the willows as they breathed around him like gossamer in the breeze.

 

“I can’t say I have,” he said thoughtfully, sounding slightly put out about it. Goody had spent a lifetime devouring any book he could get his hands on, ravenous for their information, starved for their stories. He was without question the most well-read person Billy had ever met, and yet it still irked Goody whenever he had missed something in his voracious attempts to learn and feel everything the world had to offer.

 

“Well I have,” Billy said, sinking back down into the water and spinning his hands around himself. “Very large and grey. Lots of…what do you call the stuff in whales…“

 

“Blubber.”

 

“Yeah that.”

 

Goodnight’s lip twitched as he scuffed some sand over the campfire they’d set up a little ways from the stream. “Well that rules you out.”

 

Billy smiled. “You’re thinking of sea lions.”

 

“And what are the sea lions like, pray tell?”

 

Billy dipped his head below the surface quickly so he could smooth back his hair.

 

“Darker. Sleeker.”

 

Goodnight’s gaze traced over Billy from the dripping tips of his hair to his chest that shone in the midday sun, his eyes dipping below Billy’s navel and under the rippling water. The stream was cold but that wasn’t what made Billy shiver.

 

“I’ll say,” Goodnight said, sending Billy a lascivious wink.

 

Billy snorted and splashed some water at Goodnight which had no hope of reaching the man where he was folding up blankets. Billy sunk back into the stream, enjoying its clear crispness. They’d been travelling along one of the more sparkling branches of the wide Mississippi. And this final campsite with its deep, cool, gently flowing waters and its wide carpet of grass was as pastoral as those poems Goodnight loved to quote. Goody would often sit swaying in his saddle reciting stanzas about nature from memory. And whenever he forgot a line he’d just start describing whatever he saw around them, trying to make it rhyme for as long as could before Billy cottoned on to what he was doing. Even if Billy noticed he didn’t say. Goodnight quoted good authors, but Billy always preferred Goodnight’s voice to theirs.

 

“Where are the matches?” Goodnight suddenly asked Billy who pushed lazily off the creek bed, propelling himself around.

 

“I think I saw them beside the coffee pot,” he said.

 

Goodnight bent down and retrieved them. “And the whiskey?”

 

Billy thought for a second before gesturing loosely. “Over next to the log.”

 

Goodnight walked over to get it, snorting a little at Billy who was now floating on his back, eyes closed, serenely treading water. “What about the saddles?” Goodnight asked.

 

Billy frowned. “Should still be on the horses.”

 

“Where are the horses?”

 

“Are you –“ Billy cracked an eye open. “You’re kidding.”

 

Goody winked and Billy chuckled as he continued floating. “You probably could forget where you put a horse though.”

 

“And you could always quit looking for Atlantis and come help me over here.”

 

Billy turned his head to him, the cool water caressing his cheek where he rested it on the surface. “Nope. Last time I had to pack everything up while you were just lying there on the blankets.”

 

“That was because you fucked me so hard I couldn’t even _walk_ ,” Goodnight said with a grin, looking not-at-all guilty. “So whose fault is that?”

 

“Well,” Billy said dryly, pretending to think. “Since you were the one going, “Harder, Billy, oooh _harder_ , Billy,’ I would have to say…yours?”

 

“I don’t sound like that,” Goodnight protested good-naturedly.

 

“I think I would know.”

 

Goody’s smile took on a softer curve as he loaded up the last of their packs onto the horses.

 

“Yes, you would.”

 

His work finally done, Goodnight walked over to the tree whose leaves furled out over where their campsite had been, flopping down onto the grass, his back against the bark. He placed his hands contentedly behind his head as he watched Billy gliding through the water.

 

Billy blew a spout of water out of his mouth at him, just to see Goody crack a smile. It was a childish gesture Billy knew, but Billy had never been able to help how carefree he felt around Goodnight, almost right from their very first encounter. Billy normally put up walls with everyone because it was just safer. But when Goodnight had come along and seen nothing strange about Billy’s strangeness, he had loosened Billy’s foundations so blithely that Billy knew any walls he tried to build would have just crumbled anyways.

 

And so Billy, curious, charmed, and - if he was being brutally honest with himself - lonely, had done what he hadn’t allowed himself to do with any new experience in this country: enjoy it.

 

Three years later and he was still riding with Goodnight Robicheaux and he hadn’t stopped enjoying it once.

 

A sudden plop in the water distracted him and he glanced over at Goodnight who was holding a handful of pebbles, having thrown one to get his attention. He held up another stone inquiringly and when Billy grinned, Goodnight chucked it at him. Billy stretched back in the water, catching it handily.

 

Goodnight often did this while they sat around campsites in the desert. He’d toss pebbles or twigs Billy’s way with little warning, his throws getting more and more elaborate while he tested Billy’s reflexes, waiting to see if Billy ever missed a catch. Billy rarely did, but then again it was harder now when he was floating on his back.

 

Goody sent another stone sailing out into the creek, and Billy spun about in the water to catch it backhanded.

 

“Too easy?” Goodnight asked with a quirk to his lip.

 

Billy couldn’t resist.

 

“ _Harder,_ Goody,” he said with a grin like a knife.

 

Goody snorted and threw another one so far out that Billy had to swim a few strokes to catch before it could hit the surface of the water.

 

“There you go,” Goodnight said. “That’s what you sound like the other fifty percent of the time.”

 

Billy almost choked on a mouthful of river water.

 

“Fifty? That’s generous.”

 

“What are you saying?” Goodnight asked innocently, tossing another stone out, this one with a bit of a spin on it.

 

It smacked wetly into Billy’s palm. “I’m saying eighty percent of the time it’s me fucking _you_. At your request.”

 

Goodnight grinned with zero shame. “Now who’s being generous? It’s sixty-forty if anything.”

 

Billy shook his hair out of his eyes as he looked at Goodnight still lounging on the soft grass with a hazy smile, basking contentedly in the sun like a house cat.

 

“Seventy-thirty,” Billy said lips quirking.

 

Goodnight pretended to consider it, and then threw the last pebble out into the creek. “Sixty percent you fucking me, forty percent me fucking you, and that’s my final offer.”

 

Billy leaned to the side and caught it on his fingertips. “Fine,” he conceded.

 

“Sold to the man with delusions of grandeur,” Goodnight said and Billy laughed.

 

Billy started moving towards the pebbly shore in an easy breaststroke.

 

“You know,” he said conversationally to Goodnight who was watching his progress. “I’m not actually counting?”

 

Goodnight hummed with a smile. “Neither am I.”

 

It was true. Neither of them had ever really cared who was doing what to whom, as long as they were doing it together.

 

Billy finally stood up in the shallows, water running down his body, holding up a hand to shield his eyes from the sun. The motion caused the muscles in his shoulders and chest to jerk, and he didn’t miss the way Goody bit his lip.

 

Billy walked slowly towards where Goody was lying against the tree, the damp soles of his feet picking up grit, but every other part of him feeling fresh and clean, the warm breeze and the sun streams caressing his body. Goody’s eyes traced every dip of his dripping form as he loped towards him, and as Billy drew closer he could see it wasn’t just Goody’s eyes that were taking interest.

 

Goodnight swallowed as Billy finally reached him, standing over him where they were on the fringes of this small, summery wood, completely unabashed about his nudity.

 

Goodnight reached out to cup a palm around Billy’s wet calf, thumbing circles into the damp skin.

 

“What are you up to?” he asked in that smooth, hoarse voice that had fascinated Billy so much when they’d first met.

 

Billy bent down, Goodnight’s hand sliding up to his thigh as he did, and he crouched over the man, not caring how much he was dripping onto him. The motion brought Billy level with Goodnight’s face, his gentle face with its worry-lines currently smoothed out, the relaxed curve of his smile in a beard streaked with grey, and his eyes that were both hungry and as peaceful as Billy had ever seen them. Billy’s heart lurched.

 

“Just trying to bring your forty percent up to forty-one,” he said with a grin to cover up how emotional he suddenly felt. Sometimes when Goodnight looked at him it was like he was lobbing a stone directly into the pools of Billy’s heart, and Billy felt like he could almost drown in the feeling as it rippled through him in endless rings.

 

Goodnight’s eyes were still yearning but a hint of amusement had crept in, shining there as he kept slowly caressing Billy’s thigh.

 

“Thought you weren’t counting,” he teased.

 

“I’m not,” Billy murmured, and leaned in to kiss him.

 

Goodnight almost sighed into his mouth and he slowly stroked his hand the rest of the way up Billy’s thigh. He dug his fingers hard into Billy’s hip, his firm grip contrasting the softness of his lips. His hand slid around to squeeze Billy’s ass, and then he was pulling Billy into his lap entirely.

 

Billy shuddered and tilted his head, deepening the kiss as he placed his hands on Goodnight’s chest, rolling his hips forward. There was something deeply erotic about having Goody fully clothed beneath him while Billy’s naked figure ground damp patterns into the man’s clothes. He kept rutting into Goodnight’s lap, the dry fabric creating a drag against his bare cock, making Billy’s head spin with every slide of skin on rough cloth. Billy shifted his hips and had to bite back a groan at the friction.

 

He shoved Goodnight down to the grass. When they’d found this clearing along the river last night, they hadn’t bothered with bedrolls since the grass was so soft. Goodnight lay sprawled against it now as Billy ran his damp hands up the man’s chest. Billy dug his hands into the cotton of Goodnight’s shirt, staining the material with ten desperate fingerprints.

 

Goodnight rubbed his hands up Billy’s legs, letting out a choked gasp as Billy ground down into him again, rubbing himself against the outline of Goody’s erection that was straining through his clothes.

 

“You’re just going to have to clean off again,” Goodnight said, throwing his head back, fingers tightening on Billy’s bare thighs.

 

“I know,” Billy said, a hand going to Goodnight’s pants to unhook them.

 

“And I’m going to have to change my clothes,” Goodnight panted, biting his lip.

 

“I’ll watch,” Billy said with a smirk as he started to undo the buttons of the damp, rumpled mess Goodnight’s shirt had become.

 

“We’re getting right back on the horses, you’re gonna be sore,” Goodnight said, even as he helped Billy undo his shirt, their fingers brushing.

 

“I’ve had worse,” Billy shrugged, lifting his hips so he could start tugging Goodnight’s pants down, Goody kicking them off the rest of the way.

 

“Not to mention –“

 

“Hey Goody?”

 

“Mmm?”

 

Billy’s hand closed around Goodnight’s flushed cock and he dragged his fist up once, slowly. Goodnight’s hands flew to the grass, fingers tightening in the green blanket as they would have done in sheets.

 

“Stop thinking.”

 

Goodnight’s hips gave an involuntary jerk, but he was still sending a mischievous smile up in Billy’s direction.

 

“It doesn’t come as naturally to the rest of us as it does for you –“

 

Billy squeezed his hand warningly and the rest of Goodnight’s retort was lost in a yelp. Billy chuckled and relaxed his hand, resuming his normal pace.

 

Goodnight’s chest was rising and falling in time with every one of Billy’s slow, sweet strokes, and Billy felt himself grow even harder as he gazed down at Goody’s blissed-out face. He’d have thought the novelty of this would have worn off at some point. It seemed as though they’d done this in every saloon, every clearing, every copse, and every desert canyon they’d ever come across.

 

And yet Billy never tired of him. How could he? He’d spent almost a lifetime holding himself back, aware of how visible he was, not wanting to call attention to himself. He genuinely didn’t give a shit about what people thought of him, but even so he could never _really_ relax with all the eyes on him expecting him to act a certain way. It was like Billy had strings coming from him like a marionette, always performing, always held taut. But with Goodnight he could just _be_. And the rush of it was addictive.

 

Billy cupped Goodnight’s jaw with his hand, running his thumb gently over Goody’s lips, smiling as Goody nuzzled a bit into his hand, the man’s whiskers scratching and tickling at his palm.

 

Goodnight had given him consideration where others would have given him scrutiny. Goodnight had given him warmth and friendship where others just gave Billy the cold shoulder. And when others couldn’t even give Billy the time of day, Goodnight had given Billy his whole entire self. And in doing so he’d unknowingly taken hold of the string that Billy had spent a lifetime wrapping around himself and had given it a gentle tug until it was falling of Billy’s shoulders, unraveling the knots that Billy had tied himself into for so many years. There was a freedom in tying himself to Goodnight instead.

 

And bending down, Billy pressed his lips to Goodnight’s to taste it.

 

 

*

 

 

An hour later once they were both clean and changed for the second time, Billy and Goodnight were riding away from the woods and its river, about an hour out from Baton Rouge.

 

Billy’s hat was off and his hair streamed over his shoulders as he dried it under the sun. He flicked some of it out of his face as he cast a glance over to Goodnight. Goody kept fiddling with his cravat like a boy getting ready for Sunday school, knowing he had to look nice but too keyed-up to just leave himself be.

 

“Look why don’t we just go south instead? I haven’t been to New Orleans in ages. You’d love it, Billy, I’m telling you it’s a storybook. You can smell the gumbo on the breeze, spicy enough to knock your head back. And the beignets are like a goddamn ambrosia, one bite and it’s like a sugar storm puffing out over your hands…”

 

“Goody…” Billy said, knowing exactly what Goody was doing.

 

“Wouldn’t you like to spend a couple weeks licking powdered sugar off each other’s fingers, Billy?” Goodnight asked in a silky voice, wetting his lips and leaving them slick and shining, and goddamit Billy actually felt another curl of heat licking at him despite having already gone a round with Goodnight this morning.

 

“Goody,” Billy said more sternly, despite his lips twitching.

 

“And the _music_ ,” Goodnight gushed. “Brass horns, steel drums, all of it pulsing through the streets, people inventing jazz on the spot…”

 

“ _Goody_.” Billy had to cut him off before Goodnight could sweep him away with his words entirely, which was precisely what Goody was trying to do. “When was the last time you were home?”

 

“Last year,” Goodnight said promptly. “When you took the train to California to see your mother.”

 

“Doesn’t count, you said your family wasn’t even there,” Billy corrected him. “When was the last time you saw _them_?”

 

Goodnight sighed. “Almost five years ago.”

 

“We’re in Louisiana now. And if we’re _really_ going to ride across the country someday, you might not get another chance.” Billy shrugged and repeated: “We’re here now. You might as well.”

 

Goodnight sighed. “No you’re right. I’ve just gotten used to the open road. I feel like I’ve gone feral.”

 

“You look fine,” Billy said. “If anyone should be worried it’s me.”

 

Goodnight glanced over at him unconvinced.

 

“I still think my hair might be pushing it,” Billy said humming thoughtfully. “Sure I shouldn’t just cut it?”

 

Goodnight narrowed his eyes at him. “Not on your life.”

 

Billy laughed and Goodnight looked marginally more relaxed. Billy kept distracting him.

 

“Remind me of their names.”

 

“Susanna is my sister,” Goodnight said. “Née Robicheaux, now Susanna Lewis. And she has six kids but you don’t have to remember their names because Lord knows I don’t.”

 

“Liar,” Billy said.

 

Goodnight grinned. “Fine. Grace, Abner and Edmond are the oldest ones. I forget how old they are but they should still be under twenty. Then there’s Arthur my namesake who’d be twelve now, and then there’s Josephine who I think is…ten. And the youngest is Annabelle who’d be five, but the last time I saw her she was just a baby. But seriously. You don’t have to remember the names.”

 

“Didn’t you tell me your sister was eight years older than us?” Billy asked in surprise. They were both pushing forty, and while a woman having children in her forties herself was not unheard of, it was still very unusual.

 

“We Robicheauxs are very fertile,” Goodnight said primly and Billy snorted.

 

“Don’t you want kids?” Billy asked absently and then immediately regretted it for any number of reasons. If Goodnight didn’t want kids then why was Billy planting ideas in his head? And if Goodnight _had_ ever wanted kids, then it was something else that had gotten in the way, whether that something was war…trauma…Billy…

 

The idea made Billy’s gut twist but Goodnight just grinned wickedly at him.

 

“Why Billy, don’t you think you should make an honest man out of me first?”

 

“Shut up,” Billy mumbled colouring a bit while Goodnight laughed.

 

“What about her husband?” Billy asked, pressing on.

 

“Gerald,” Goodnight said. He didn’t say it with as much fondness as he had with his nieces and nephews. Billy didn’t miss it.

 

They rode in silence for a while, and Billy continued to dwell on the image of Goodnight with kids. When he’d first met Goody, the man was travelling alone and outrunning demons, somewhat less rough around the edges as the other characters they’d come across on the road, but still a man who could hold his own. Billy just associated Goodnight with the figure who rode beside him with a rifle slung over his back, who could line up a shot as easily as drawing breath, and who looked like he’d been born on a horse.

 

But Billy knew that hadn’t always been Goodnight. Once he’d been a man from a large, wealthy family that seemed to carry on having large families themselves. A domestic man. Goodnight never implied that he wanted his former life back, but if he did and was still riding with Billy…

 

Billy reached for his hairpin in his belt, and began to wind his hair up, suddenly feeling a bit of cold spreading through him, even though the sun was so hot. Billy had always known himself very well, better than most, and he was unused to feeling much internal anxiety on any level. But then again when you’ve had the kind of life that Billy had experienced, dealing with reality quickly became more important than dealing with hypotheticals.

 

Funny that it was only now, when Billy felt the most at peace he ever had, that these doubts should come creeping in. Actually…Billy thought somewhat ironically…that was probably _exactly_ why.

 

And as well as he knew himself, and as well as he _felt_ he knew Goodnight…Billy was forced to admit that Goodnight had lived an entire life before Billy, one that Billy couldn’t even imagine.

 

Goodnight looked over at him suddenly, eyes too keen for Billy’s liking.

 

“What?” Billy asked.

 

“I can hear you thinking,” Goodnight said.

 

“That’s strange,” Billy said. “I was doing it inside.”

 

Goodnight raised an eyebrow at him and Billy felt compelled to add: “People who aren’t you tend to do it there.”

 

Goodnight rolled his eyes. “C’mon. What is it?”

 

Billy could share just about anything with Goodnight but he somehow felt like he couldn’t share this. They were on their way to Goodnight’s childhood home, and it wouldn’t do to spoil it for him.

 

Billy thought for a minute. “It’s about how you’re introducing me,” he finally said, relieved that he’d found something to deflect with that was still honest.

 

Goodnight sighed. “We talked about this, Billy.”

 

“I’m just saying if it’s easier for you then –“

 

“Well it’s not easier for you, so forget about it, okay?” Goodnight said.

 

“I really don’t mind,” Billy said quickly.

 

“Well I do, so drop it.” Goodnight said, a little irritably. “I’m not introducing you as my manservant.”

 

“It makes the most sense,” Billy pointed out.

 

“If we were on some…” Goodnight waved his hand around absently. “Undercover mission maybe,” he settled on. “But not for my _family_.”

 

“Undercover mission?” Billy asked raising his eyebrow. “You really do read too much.”

 

“Christ, Billy.” Goodnight pursed his lips and Billy knew that meant Goody was genuinely annoyed.

 

“Sorry,” Billy said honestly. He’d grown up in a family that was emotionally reticent by nature _and_ culture. Sometimes these conversations still made him automatically defensive. And when Billy was defensive he knew he became glib.

 

Goodnight looked at him, his face softening.

 

“Oh dammit, Bill. Don’t be. Humanity is a sorry and shrouded lot sometimes, and none of it’s your fault.”

 

They kept riding and Goodnight said in a low voice: “I know I…forget sometimes that not everyone is ready to welcome you in just like that. That it’s something you even have to think about.” He paused. “And if it ever still surprises me that people aren’t lining up to make your acquaintance, well…”

 

He looked over at Billy with a small apologetic smile.

 

“I guess it’s just ‘cause I like you so much.”

 

Billy’s throat tightened, and he could never figure out how Goodnight could just _do_ that: disarm Billy like that with only his words, sweet and sincere and offered so carelessly like he didn’t know what gifts his gestures were to Billy.

 

“So how are we introducing me?” Billy asked to the back of his horse’s head.

 

Goodnight shrugged. “How about I just say you’re my friend?”

 

Billy looked over at him, and Goodnight gave him a crooked smile.

 

“It’s not like it ever stopped being true,” Goody said quietly.

 

Billy could actually feel the cold pit in his stomach start to bleed away, gradually being replaced by the warmth he’d felt at the beginning of the day when they hadn’t been thinking about all this.

 

“No it didn’t,” Billy agreed, giving Goody a small smile. And it was true. Just because they’d fallen for each other somewhere along the way didn’t mean that Goodnight wasn’t still the best friend Billy had ever had.

 

They rode a little more easily and Billy could start to make out a city on the horizon. Their horses joined up with road that was beaten with more hoofprints and the tracks of wagon wheels, all beginning to cluster together.

 

“So just to be clear,” Billy mumbled and Goody leaned closer to hear. “I _shouldn’t_ introduce myself as your mysterious Eastern lover who’s sodomizing you on a regular basis. Right?”

 

Goodnight laughed, gold tooth winking at Billy under the sun.

 

“Per _haps_ not,” he said grinning. “I mean my sister will be unfailingly polite to you if I tell her you’re my friend. She can’t help it, she’s one of the last of the real ladies. But she’s still a God-fearing Southerner where it counts.”

 

“And you’re not?” Billy asked, a little curious.

 

“What, God-fearing?” Goody asked and Billy nodded.

 

Goodnight stopped smiling, his forehead furrowed in thought.

 

“I fear God for a lot of reasons,” Goodnight said slowly, and Billy suddenly wished he hadn’t said a thing.

 

But then he was sending a sly smile Billy’s way. “But fucking you forty-one percent of the time is not one of those reasons.”

 

Billy couldn’t help it: he laughed out loud, and any lingering coldness he might have still been feeling seemed to float out of his skin and evaporate in the Louisiana sun.

 

 

*

 

 

“Goody?” the woman in the door practically shrieked, her hands flying to her face.

 

“Heya sis,” Goody said grinning. “What’s for dinner?”

 

“Goodnight Robicheaux!” the woman exclaimed as she smacked Goodnight’s shoulder emotionally, but then just as quickly she was pulling him into a warm hug.

 

“Oh why didn’t you write to say you were _coming_?” she said into his shoulder.

 

“Barely knew I was coming myself,” Goodnight said patting her back. “That and my handwriting would appall you lately.”

 

He stepped back. “Susanna, I’d like you to meet a friend of mine. This is Billy Rocks,” Goody said, gesturing to where Billy was hanging back on the wide front steps holding his hat in his hands.

 

The woman looked up with a jolt, her eyes widening a little at Billy who had expected no less, and he gave her a small nod, relieved he wasn’t wearing any knives that were visible.

 

But to her credit she immediately snapped out of it. “You’ll have to forgive my distraction, Mister Rocks, is it? It’s been a hectic day but I’m very pleased to make your acquaintance, very pleased I’m sure. Any friend of Goodnight’s is very welcome.”

 

She extended her hand and Billy took it, getting a proper look at her. She was a handsome woman, thickset and shapely, with broad features and a stronger jaw than one normally saw in a woman. Her thick brown hair was twisted up in an elegant knot and she wore what looked like fashionable clothes, not that Billy knew anything about all that. She didn’t look a thing like Goodnight, and her hazel eyes were steady and sharp as opposed to the perpetual blue sparkle of Goody’s when they weren’t clouded over in memories. But they were warm enough as she regarded Billy and shook his hand with a firm grip.

 

“Well don’t just stand there, come on in,” she said as she held the door open for them, and Billy followed her and Goodnight through the thick oaken doorway and into the elegant hall.

 

Billy immediately felt his gut clench. There were only two reasons he ever set foot in a house like this: the first was when he’d been forced to work in them for rich men. The second was when he would sneak into them to kill similar rich men for people like him who’d been put into the same position.

 

But Susanna was taking their hats and coats herself, fussing over them in what appeared to be genuine attention, and Billy had to remind himself that that part of his life was over, and force himself to pay attention to the now.

 

The hallway was full of large trunks and boxes of all sizes, all of them packed and stacked, creating a forest of shiny polished wood and copper clasps.

 

“I say, I didn’t realize it was time to migrate already,” Goodnight said, rapping his knuckles on a tall chest as he gave his sister a questioning look.

 

“ _Well_ ,” she said, hanging up Billy’s coat on a deep, brass coatrack. “If you’d bothered to write I could have told you we’re leaving town tomorrow. Gerald’s father isn’t well so we’re going down to Lafayette to be with him. I fear it won’t be much longer now. And I can’t be _lieve_ you’re only showing up now as we’re leaving! You always had to make a dramatic entrance, didn’t you, Goody?”

 

“And where is Gerald?” Goodnight asked, glancing around the hall. He’d been smiling at his sister’s words, but it had become a little forced.

 

“He’s down there already,” Susanna said, ushering them through the hall leading them into an elegant parlor. “Along with Grace, Abner, and Ed. My eldest children,” she added considerately to Billy.

 

Goodnight looked immediately cheerier. “And what about the young’uns?” he asked, his eyes lighting up.

 

“Playing out back with Serafine, she’ll be _thrilled_ to see you,” Susanna said. She didn’t seem to be a woman who gushed very much, and her smile was a closed-mouthed one, but the curve of her lips was genuine.

 

“You boys take a seat, no don’t worry about your clothes, that sofa has seen children climbing all over it at one point and you both look cleaner than them. I’ll go and get them,” she said, gesturing to a striped sofa. She turned to go, but then looked back at her younger brother, and Billy thought he saw just the barest hint of moisture in her mossy eyes as she walked back.

 

“Oh Goody, it’s so good to see you. Next time you come visit, don’t feel like you have to wait another five years, you hear?”

 

She took Goody’s face in her hands and gave him a heartfelt kiss on the cheek, and was then bustling out of the room in a swirl of hoop skirts.

 

Goodnight swallowed a little beside him, and Billy could tell he was touched.

 

“Your sister is nice,” Billy said to him.

 

“Yeah she is,” Goodnight said, clearing his throat.

 

“Good looking,” Billy mused thoughtfully.

 

“I agree.”

 

“You two don’t look alike.”

 

“No she always took after Ma – _wait_ , what the hell is that supposed to mean?” Goodnight squawked. Billy knocked his knee into Goody’s.

 

“Smartass,” Goodnight grumbled but he was grinning. “But it’s been nice making her acquaintance as an adult. When you’re a child, being eight years apart is all but an eternity so Sue always felt more like a second mother sometimes. Except for that she was much stricter than my own mother ever was. And she runs her own brood very much the same way.”

 

“And Sera…” Billy’s mouth couldn’t make the sound of the name and he looked at Goody for confirmation.

 

“Serafine!” Goody exclaimed. “She was _our_ nanny if you can believe that, and then Sue took her on as the nanny for _her_ kids. And then when Ma got sick they all moved back into this house to take care of her until she died, and then they just decided to stay here. And so life continues to circle on.”

 

“So this is really…”

 

“My childhood home,” Goodnight said, shaking his head a little, sounding bemused about it. “Not that I recognize much of it anymore. Sue did always have very particular tastes,” he said with a laugh.

 

Billy suddenly had so many questions. He wanted to know why any mention of Goody’s brother-in-law got him so tense, he wanted to know if this nanny of Goody’s had been a former slave, and if so, what the situation was now.

 

But before he could ask anything, Susanna was coming back into the room with three children in tow, two of whom ran shrieking towards their uncle.

 

“Well well well, look who got bigger than a couple of sequoias!” Goodnight said as he stood up with a huge smile. The boy and girl rushed him and he caught one under each arm, swinging them about, the boy’s foot almost catching Billy on the jaw. Susanna smiled at her brother and her children as she stroked the hair of another small girl who was hiding behind her wide skirts.

 

Goodnight noticed and set both kids down. They were tugging on his clothes and hollering at him, but he just gave his sister a wondering look, and she nodded in confirmation.

 

Goodnight crouched down, not going any closer, giving the small girl a gentle smile. “Why this can’t be Annabelle, can it? The last time I saw you, you were just about the size of a loaf of bread.”

 

The girl peeked her head out from behind her mother’s skirts, revealing a small face framed by hair the same sandy shade as Goodnight’s.

 

“Well would you look at those twin pools of grey, I see you got your Daddy’s eyes!” Goodnight exclaimed. “Always thought his eyes looked like a couple of silver dollars. I say,” he said in a hushed voice. “Annabelle darling? Looks like you’re growing a third eye over there.”

 

The little girl held up a hand to her forehead, looking wonderingly at Goodnight.

 

“If you come here I could show you?” Goodnight said, phrasing it like it was just a thought and not a suggestion.

 

The girl walked slowly towards him and Goody reached out behind her ear. And with a snap he was pulling his hand back, a silver dollar between his fingers.

 

“Et voilà,” he said in stage whisper, holding the coin out to his niece. She smiled toothily and reached out to take it, and as she did he caught her hand and was giving it a whiskery kiss, making her giggle.

 

“Enchanté, mon cher,” Goodnight said with a grin.

 

His other niece and nephew started pounding at his back demanding their treat and he straightened up, giving a ruffle to the littlest girl’s curls as he handed each of them a shinplaster as well. They shrieked their thanks and then looked quickly up at their mother, guilty about their ruckus inside the house, but she was still smiling. Billy supposed a visit from an uncle was a special occasion, especially if that uncle was Goody.

 

“Now while you’ve all been yelling like a pack of coyotes, didn’t you see that your Uncle Goody has brought a friend?” Susanna asked them raising an eyebrow, and the two older children whirled around, their jaws dropping immediately at Billy. Billy was amused at their synchronization.

 

“This is Billy Rocks, go on and say ‘Hello Mister Rocks’. Go on now,” Goodnight said, giving them both a nudge.

 

The children moved their lips but no sound came out.

 

“Alright well you can all just go ahead and give me back those coins in your ungrateful hands, come on, hand ‘em over,” Goodnight said with a sigh.

 

“Hellomisterrocks,” the children said immediately, almost in a shout, still staring wide-eyed at Billy. Goodnight’s lips twitched.

 

“I’m sorry about their manners, Mister Rocks,” Susanna said, walking over and giving a light smack to the back of the boy’s head. “But I’m afraid we don’t see many people around here who are quite so…so…”

 

“Tall?” Billy asked, the first words he’d spoken to her directly.

 

Susanna looked like she couldn’t tell if he was joking or not, but when Goody snorted her face relaxed and she looked at Billy somewhat shrewdly.

 

“Precisely,” she said. She turned to her children.

 

“Now I want the three of you to run upstairs and check you’ve packed everything you need for tomorrow, _no_ , I don’t want to hear another word, Arthur Goodnight Lewis. Last time we visited Granddaddy it was _you_ who forgot your play-clothes, remember how bored you were? Run along now and check. And all of you wash that dirt off your faces before supper, you look like a horde of savages.”

 

The children scampered off but not without craning their necks to get another look at Billy. Billy really didn’t mind though. It was only irritating when it came from grown men and women.

 

“And tell Serafine to come down and say hello,” Susanna called after them but they were already out of earshot. “Oh never mind. I asked her to set up a couple rooms upstairs for you two,” she explained to Goodnight, and was then suddenly looking at her younger brother a bit exasperatedly.

 

“Buying their love, really, Goody?”

 

Goodnight laughed while shrugging. “Well if it’s for sale…”

 

“Oh you’ll spoil them rotten and they’re already the spoiled babies of the family,” Susanna said.

 

“So was I,” Goodnight said, giving her a charming grin. “And I turned out alright. Relatively speaking.”

 

“You look a lot better than last time,” she said with a small smile. And then she was turning to Billy, a bit to Billy’s surprise.

 

“And I think I can see why you and my foolheaded little brother became friends, Mister Rocks,” she said severely.

 

Billy glanced between her and Goodnight who was suddenly looking uncertain. He and Goody had barely looked at each other in front of her, surely she didn’t mean…

 

But Susanna was suddenly raising a sly eyebrow at him.

 

“He also thinks he’s funny,” she said as she turned away, looking back at Billy a bit archly. Billy felt a rush of relief and amusement, and just for a second he could see what she must have been like at sixteen and one of those fabled Southern belles to reckon with: sharp and vivacious, swirling about dances and barbecues with thick dark hair and flashing eyes, suitors eating out of the palm of her hand.

 

She left to go check on supper and Goodnight huffed out a laugh.

 

“Come on, let’s go upstairs, save Serafine a trip.”

 

They left the parlor and walked up a wide staircase, and despite feeling more relaxed than when he’d come in, Billy still found himself automatically taking note of the staircase’s rich carpeting. He knew that if he ever needed to sneak up to the second floor in the night to slit a master’s throat and free an Oriental servant, the carpet would help to muffle the sound of his footsteps.

 

 _Snap out of it_ , Billy silently admonished himself. He shouldn’t even be having these memories in this house. Goody’s family wasn’t like that. They weren’t the kind of people who would buy a young Japanese girl away from her parents and force her to become a comfort woman if she was pretty or a scullery maid if she wasn’t. They wouldn’t buy a Chinese boy as a footman to serve drinks to guests and to be marveled at as a curiosity. And they wouldn’t approach a Korean woman asking to buy her sixteen-year-old son, saying that if he worked hard enough he could earn back the price of two tickets to Korea for her family, never mind that they reeked of overpriced cologne and untrustworthiness, and never mind that the son maybe didn’t even _want_ to go back to Korea anymore, maybe he had finally learned English, maybe he was finally starting to feel a taste of the freedom this country could have for him…

 

Billy shook his head clear as they reached the top of the stairs and walked down the hall’s plush carpet. They turned a corner and ran into a tall, angular black woman whose sharp features broke out into a huge, toothy grin, wrinkled hands flying to her heart.

 

“ _Ah c’est vrai, mon petit Bonsoir! J’en peux pas le croire!”_ she cried out and laughed as she embraced Goody. Billy realized with a start that he actually recognized one of the words: ‘Bonsoir’. Goodnight.

 

He was suddenly hit with a memory from a couple years ago, sitting around a campfire with Goodnight. Goody had always been so likably earnest about pestering Billy for Korean vocabulary that he could surprise Billy with, and Billy thought it would have been nice to make a similar gesture back. He knew Goodnight didn’t actually consider French to be his first language, despite being fluent. But nonetheless, Billy had asked Goodnight to teach him a word or two.

 

“Well there’s always my name I suppose,” Goodnight had said with a laugh. “If you want to tell someone ‘goodnight’ you can tell them _bonsoir_.”

 

“Bon…soi…” Billy had attempted, unable to mimic the pleasingly guttural runoff of the ‘r’ sound. He had laughed and said, “Christ, I hope you don’t except me to call you that.”

 

Goodnight had smiled. “Nah, it was only my old nanny who called me that. Pet name for a pet name. It was just a joke we had.”

 

Billy remembered staring into the fire, unable to wrap his head around the idea of people having servants with whom they shared jokes, not to mention pet names. He still couldn’t quite believe it, even though he was now watching Goodnight and his former nanny embrace right in front of him like family.

 

“ _Ma Serafine,”_ Goodnight said with a laugh. “ _C’est vrai que tu ne vieillis pas. Tu vas me rendre jaloux, heh?”_

Billy had no idea what Goodnight was saying, but he sure as hell recognized Goodnight’s tone for flattery, and it was confirmed when the old woman laughed and smacked his arm.

 

Goodnight was saying something else and then Billy heard his name, and taking his cue he dipped his head at the Creole woman. He saw his own curiosity mirrored in her dark face as she made an aborted motion towards a curtsy, clearly unsure how to greet someone who had been introduced as a friend of the family, but who looked and was more foreign here than her.

 

“ _Enchant_ _é_ ,” she settled on, seemingly feeling like it was safe to give Billy a nod of her pointed chin. She turned back to Goody and began speaking rapidly to him, gesturing to some doors down the hall, motioning between him and Billy. She held up ten fingers, gave Goodnight a warning look, and Billy was amused at how boyish and cowed Goody suddenly looked. Goodnight nodded, and they kissed each other on both cheeks, and she was off downstairs with another curious look at Billy.

 

“I’m telling you, she doesn’t age at all,” Goodnight said, eyes following his old nanny. He turned back to Billy. “She said that –“

 

“You’re in that room, I’m in the next one, she’s sorry but we’re going to have to share a bathroom, dinner is in ten minutes, and you had better not be late, young man,” Billy said smoothly.

 

Goodnight looked at him with a start. Billy just shrugged. He hadn’t actually caught a single word, but he was used to sifting through language he didn’t understand to hear the heart of what people were saying. He was fluent in English _now_. But growing up with such an unfamiliar language meant that Billy would have been screwed if he hadn’t been able to quickly draw on a situation’s context and people’s tones to know what the hell was going on.

 

A slow grin spread across Goody’s face. “Well aren’t you a smart one, Mister Rocks.”

 

“Feeling threatened?” Billy teased him, feeling a spike of affection as the corner of Goodnight’s lip twitched and Goody regarded him through his lashes. Billy felt himself move in and –

 

One of the children suddenly ran up to them, the older girl. She started tugging on Goodnight’s sleeve while pleading with Goodnight to come downstairs, asking if Goodnight had come on a horse, and if he did could they go and pet it…

 

Billy quickly took a step back, the simmering heat immediately doused with guilt. He’d been about to _kiss_ Goody. Billy was appalled at himself. He frequently wanted to kiss Goody, and on the road it wasn’t hard at all. He just had to walk over to where Goodnight was stoking the campfire, tilt the man’s chin up and bend down to gently press his lips to Goody’s. Or he could just stride over to where Goodnight was saddling up a horse, twist him around to crush their lips together, backing Goody into a tree and kissing him senseless…

 

But here, in the man’s childhood home where his _family_ was all around? What if one of the children had seen and it tarnished the image of their beloved uncle, all because Billy couldn’t keep it together?

 

The girl was still pulling on Goodnight’s shirt and Goody looked apologetically at Billy. Billy waved him off so that they could go outside and look at the horses. Billy knew that Goodnight would probably only show the children Billy’s horse since Goody’s own horse had a tendency to snap at people who weren’t Goodnight or – after a long trial period – Billy.

 

Feeling similarly testy, Billy walked over to where Serafine had indicated the bathroom was. He found himself in a beautiful, white-marbled affair, a china washbasin already set up for them. This Serafine worked fast it seemed.

 

Billy filled the basin with some of the water from the jug. He paused and then was pouring the rest of the water into the large bowl. He took a breath and dipped his face into the basin, closing his eyes.

 

Billy didn’t need to go running into the ocean anytime the world got to be too much for him anymore. He’d learned to develop his own inner silence long ago. Learned to use that silence as armor when people yelled, learned to be still while others lashed out.

 

But Billy was finding it suddenly difficult to hold onto that stillness. He felt stretched thin, like people’s eyes could pierce through him if there was enough force behind him. The three years he’d spent with Goodnight had spoiled Billy. Softened him. He’d forgotten just how very different Goodnight was from other people. Not just because the man was charming and affable and went about his business with a magnetic flash that drew people to him. Goodnight was also generous, oblivious to his own bravery, so imaginative he bordered on being odd, and with a heart as big as the ocean. It was no wonder Billy had dived in headfirst.

 

And here was Billy being ridiculous and selfish when Goody only had one more day with his family who had turned out to be extremely pleasant. But they were still Goody’s people, not Billy’s. And Billy genuinely didn’t think he’d have found this town and this house to be so unsettling.

 

But it wasn’t like he could complain. Hell, coming here had been Billy’s idea in the first place. When their travels had trickled over into Louisiana it was _Billy_ who had suggested they hook north so Goodnight could see his family.

 

So here they were, taking a break from the road, but to be frank Billy had never felt more like getting back on it. The road was their world. This place was Goody’s world. And Billy didn’t know how he fit into it at all.

 

Well. It had been Billy’s goddamn idea, so he could just buck up and deal, couldn’t he?

 

He straightened up with a breath, coming face-to-face with his own reflection in the gilt-edged mirror. Water was streaming off his face, dripping into the faded cloth of Billy’s collar as he stood in the bathroom staring at himself. The room was an exercise in precision and taste, everything set up and arranged just so. The only thing that looked out of place was Billy.

 

Billy raised a sardonic eyebrow at his reflection.

 

“Well aren’t you a smart one, Mister Rocks.”

 

 

*

Billy couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a sit-down dinner in an actual house, but he was sure it would have been back in California with his parents. Their cramped table would always be full of traditional side-dishes that Billy’s mother made a point to lay out, even if the spices weren’t quite the same here. Sprouts, fermented cabbage, fish on the bone…always the same array, no matter what their main meal was. It was frequently jjigae, the thick soup always served bubbling hot. Or once a month they treated themselves with samgyeopsal. They cooked the strips of pork belly on an improvised grill that Billy’s mother had fashioned, the wire bent into a brazier, desperately trying to retain some traces of her former life…

 

Billy had hung onto so much sourness where his mother was concerned. He had spent his entire adult life twisted and betrayed over what she’d done, the angry resentment of a man mingled with the shocked abandonment of a child. He had refused to see her, even think about her until last year when he was holding onto a telegram with the word ‘dying’ on it, stamped in black letters that had bled slightly into the paper.

 

He’d gone out of duty, gently turning down Goody’s requests to join him. Billy knew it wasn’t going to be a pleasant experience, just like he knew it was something he had to do alone. And when his mother had pleaded for forgiveness he’d given it insincerely. He hadn’t felt the slightest bit appeased as he listened to her explanations that she’d sold him for _them_ , for their family, so that they could leave this country. It had promised them a new and different life, but it had turned out to be just too different for her to manage.

 

Billy hadn’t been impressed by the excuse. He had adapted, hadn’t he? He hadn’t felt sympathetic going, and he hadn’t achieved any peace from it either.

 

But…sitting here in the large candlelit dining room of this house, Billy felt a tiny flicker of nostalgia. The long, polished table was a far cry from the rickety wobbling affair in the old apartment his family had, this table was overflowing with foods that Billy never would have recognized as a child. And the way the family was all animatedly addressing each other over their food, voices raising in order to be heard, never would have happened at Billy’s quiet table growing up. But the sense of family was there, lingering thickly in the air. And Billy couldn’t stop himself from thinking of his own family, of his mother who was so desperate to hold onto some familiar imagery from when she was a child that she’d gone and made a grill out of a chicken coop so they could share a dinner she was comfortable with. For the first time Billy thought of his mother, and instead of having the memory taste bitter it was maybe just the slightest bit wistful.

 

He was sitting between Susanna who was at the head of the table, and Goody who was on his other side. He was pretty sure Susanna had placed him in between her and her younger brother on purpose, to spare him the embarrassment of one of her children being too shy to sit next to Billy. They were all still eyeing him with no small measure of stupefaction, but it was gradually becoming a little more curious, the look of shock being slowly replaced by a bit more awe.

 

“Well now, Mister Rocks,” Susanna was saying to Billy. Her children all looked at her in amazement, deeply impressed that their mother was so fearlessly addressing the fascinating-looking stranger with the dark eyes and darker hair. “As lovely as it is to catch up with my brother, I fear if I don’t cut him off now he may never stop talking, and I’m sure we all want to hear a bit about you and where you’re from.”

 

Billy dabbed his napkin against his lips. “California?” he asked.

 

Goody choked on his wine and Billy hid his smile behind his napkin. Susanna’s eyes sparked in amusement, but she was undeterred.

 

“Goody tells me you’re from Korea. Now I’ve spent my fair share of time in our father’s library, not as much as Goody here, but more than most. And I still don’t think I could place Korea on a map with any certainty.”

 

“Most can’t,” Billy said. He stopped talking, unsure of how to continue. He didn’t actually remember Korea that well anymore. And also no one ever asked him about himself except for Goody. But for all that Susanna and Goody didn’t look a thing alike, it seemed like curiosity was a genetic trait.

 

Susanna noticed the pause and launched into a more specific line of inquiry, rather than leaving Billy to navigate an open-ended one.

 

“Tell me about the architecture. I do love decorating, but it all has the same European influence nowadays. It would be interesting to hear about a more Eastern style.”

 

Well Billy didn’t have the first clue about decorating anything, but Goodnight’s sister had been kind to him, so he tried to search for something to say. He ended up just describing the temples from what he could remember of them: their large red pillars holding up tiled roofs with long corners that jutted out into the sky to reveal the elaborate designs they were hiding underneath: vivid green curled over with brilliant pinks and reds. He was no poet with words like Goodnight was, but he tried to do it justice. Susanna listened attentively, but to his relief she switched to food, which Billy knew a little more about.

 

He felt Goody’s hand brush against his knee at one point. Billy froze but no one had seemed to notice. So when he pushed his knee a little closer to Goodnight’s fingers, Goody closed his hand over his knee entirely, his palm a familiar steady weight. Billy appreciated it.

 

He had just finished explaining that rice was actually eaten with a spoon and not chopsticks when Susanna suddenly looked alarmed.

 

“Oh forgive me, Mister Rocks, I wasn’t thinking at all. Have you been comfortable with the cutlery so far?”

 

Billy’s lip quirked.

 

“Thank you, ma’am. But I'm alright with knives.”

 

He caught Goody’s eyes which were dancing in amusement at him, and he bit his lip looking away.

 

“Well if you do feel as though you’d like a pair, Arthur over here is quite the whittler. I didn’t like him having that penknife at first but I must admit he’s quite handy with it. If it’s anything wooden I’m sure he could knock some up quite easily if you described them.”

 

“I could, Mister Rocks!” her son blurted out across the table from Billy, and immediately shrunk back when Billy turned his eyes on him.

 

Billy could have told them that Korea actually used metal chopsticks not wood. He could have told them about how the kings used chopsticks of pure silver that changed colour if they touched any poison in their food.

 

But looking at the boy it was like seeing Goodnight in miniature: eager and hesitant all at once. So Billy just nodded at him and said:

 

“Thank you.”

 

 

*

 

After a dessert of pound cake and coffee they moved to the drawing room where Susanna offered them both brandy. The children came in after them and Billy got the sense that this was not a part of their usual routine, but rather a special occasion to spend more time with their uncle before they all left to see their ailing grandfather the following morning.

 

Billy sat back in an armchair feeling a good deal more relaxed than when they’d first arrived. He suspected the brandy had something to do with that, as well as the large fireplace he was seated beside. But part of it was Susanna’s hospitality he was sure. He watched her reminiscing with Goody, and contemplated them both. He knew Goodnight didn’t have any other living siblings, but he suddenly wondered how much Goodnight and Susanna had in common with their brothers who hadn’t made it through the war.

 

He noticed they weren’t talking about their other brothers at all. They mentioned their parents frequently, sometimes wistfully, sometimes jokingly as they recalled childish hijinks, and always with a fondness that Billy couldn’t relate to where his own parents were concerned. But for all they could seemingly share the memory of their mother and father, neither brought up their dead brothers once.

 

Billy had been an only child. But he supposed that siblings went through childhood with their own private bond, occupying a secret childish world full of simmering feuds and shifting alliances that were hidden from the eyes of unimaginative adults who remained as sturdy as the trunk of the tree while their children danced away from them on ever-swaying branches that got narrower and narrower. Billy didn’t know how you were supposed to feel when one of those branches got chopped off, let alone when you lost three to the same axe, which is what had happened to Goodnight and Susanna during the war.

 

Billy just listened to them talk, not feeling neglected in the slightest. This was familiar and comfortable territory for him. Billy had never been shy to jump into conversations if it suited him, but he’d never really understood talking to anyone for pleasure until he’d met Goody. Goody however could never resist conversation and when they found themselves in a saloon full of other peculiar characters, Goody would always be involved. Sometimes it was to hold court, sometimes it was to prompt the stories of others. Talk or be talked to, Goody just genuinely liked people, liked to pull their true natures to the surface. And Billy enjoyed watching him do it.

 

Billy suddenly felt a gaze on him. He turned his head to see a pair of wide grey eyes hanging over the armrest of his chair as the littlest girl stared up at him quietly.

 

Billy looked back at her.

 

“Hi,” he said.

 

“Hi,” she whispered.

 

They looked at each other for a minute longer. Billy cleared his throat. He didn’t exactly know what to do with children. He’d freed a couple from masters who’d been practically starving them as scullery maids, their skinny arms wrapped around his neck as he carried them out of elegant houses, covering their dirty faces with a hand as they walked past the bodies of their masters. The men would often have their throats slit, their Persian carpets becoming sodden with their own blood. It was too bad those men hadn’t been satisfied with only collecting Oriental furniture.

 

So Billy had _helped_ some children, but as far as entertaining them was concerned…

 

He glanced to a table beside his chair that had some thick creamy paper and a fountain pen that looked dry. He picked it up, remembering how Goody had won this tiny one over with a magic trick.

 

“Here. Look,” Billy said, not even bothering to inflect any drama into his voice the way Goody had done. He knew he’d sound ridiculous. Instead he balanced the pen carefully on the tip of his index finger. With a flick of his finger he launched it into the air where it flipped three times before landing back on his finger, Billy relaxing his hand, absorbing the landing. The pen wobbled but still stuck straight up.

 

“There,” Billy said. But the girl’s eyes grew even bigger and she looked at Billy in awe. He felt his lip quirk.

 

He flipped the pen at her and she caught it with a squeal, running back to climb into her mother’s lap and hide her face in her chest. But she peeked back out at Billy with a delighted smile.

 

“Well is it time to go to bed then?” Susanna asked, stroking her daughter’s curls.

 

“NO,” the other two shouted where they’d been lying on the carpet, the older girl tying elaborate braids in the tassels of the carpet under Goody’s feet, and Goodnight’s namesake assiduously shaving a pair of branches over a newspaper with a penknife. He’d found them outside after supper and was now whittling them down into narrow points.

 

“Well how about a story then,” Goodnight said thoughtfully as he tugged at Josephine’s pigtails when she leaned closer against his chair. His nieces and nephew all perked up and edged closer to Goodnight. Billy stayed where he was but he could understand their compulsion.

 

“What is it this time?” Susanna asked, gently handing Annabelle over to Goody, Josephine climbing into his lap as well. He shifted to accommodate them both. Arthur was still absorbed in his whittling, but he pulled his newspapers with the wooden shavings closer to Goody’s feet to hear better.

 

“Hmm,” Goodnight drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair. He caught Billy’s eye. “There’s always the story of how I met Billy.”

 

Billy barely repressed a snort. He raised a skeptical eyebrow at Goodnight, knowing Goody was going to go into that cock and bull story about watching Billy take down an entire bar with his bare hands. It was entertaining for _them_ , a private code of sorts. But it was possibly less entertaining for children.

 

“Maybe that one’s a little dynamic,” Goodnight said with a grin at him, reading Billy’s face. Billy rolled his eyes and took a sip of brandy.

 

“I say,” Goodnight said with a snap of his fingers. “I could tell you all about the time Billy here saved my life.”

 

The children and Susanna all swung their heads over to Billy in amazement. Billy maintained a poker face, despite some amusement bubbling up. They’d saved each other’s lives multiple times, even more times for the benefit of an audience. It happened once a week the way Goody told it. Billy wondered what the hell it was going to be this time.

 

“It all started when we were down in Florida,” Goodnight said dropping his voice. “Swimming in the great, grey Atlantic.”

 

Billy’s mouth curved over the rim of his glass. They’d never been to Florida. He wanted to hear where this was going.

 

“We’d just eaten a picnic of king crab, all that succulent meat steaming its way right out of the shell,” Goody said, rubbing his stomach for effect. “Lobster too, swimming in a pool of butter. And did I mention the oysters? Raw oysters that tasted just like waves: watery and briny and slipping right down your throat.”

 

“I’m hungry,” Arthur whined, leaning against his mother’s legs.

 

“You just ate,” Susanna said, admonishing him gently. “But you may have another slice of cake if you go to the kitchen and ask nicely.” But the boy wasn’t moving, his eyes fixed attentively on Goody.

 

“What was for dessert?” Annabelle asked, tilting her head back to see her uncle’s face better.

 

“Seaweed,” Goody said immediately. “Billy here loves seaweed, it’s what they eat where he’s from. He can’t get enough of it.”

 

Goody grinned across the room at Billy, who discreetly tapped his middle finger against his brandy glass. Goody just winked and turned back to his nieces and nephew.

 

“Now Billy here _told_ me not to swim right after eating, but did I listen? No I did not,” Goodnight sighed mournfully. “But to tell you the truth,” he said lowering his voice in a hush. “None of our oysters had any pearls in them. So I wanted to dive down and find one myself.”

 

Susanna smiled and glanced over at Billy, having caught on to the fact that this story was possibly going to be more fantastical in nature than anything else.

 

“So there I am, swimming along the bottom of the ocean, sand swirling through my fingers, seaweed tickling my toes, when what do I see coming towards me?” The children leaned forward and Goodnight widened his eyes. “A great. White. _Shark_.”

 

Josephine jolted in his lap, her pigtails bouncing, and Arthur’s eyes widened. Annabelle gasped.

 

“He stretched from one end of this room to the other,” Goodnight said, gesturing dramatically. “He was the colour of steel, the size of a train, and five times as powerful.”

 

“What did you do?” Arthur asked, his whittling completely abandoned.

 

“Nothing,” Goodnight said, shaking his head and looking dismayed. “When that shark opened its mouth it showed a row of teeth like bayonets. So I just closed my eyes, said a prayer, and waited to become fish food.”

 

Susanna gave her brother a warning look to not make it too scary, but the children were hanging onto his every word.

 

“But then, who do I see swimming between me and the shark?” Goodnight asked, lowering his voice conspiratorially. The children leaned in and Goody jabbed his finger dramatically at Billy, making them jump. “That man right over there.”

 

The children’s heads swiveled over to Billy with their mouths open.

 

“Billy swam right up to that shark, pulled out a knife and –“ Goodnight caught his sister’s eye. “ – firmly told it go away,” he finished a bit anticlimactically.

 

But it didn’t diminish his nieces and nephew’s attention one bit.

 

“You can talk to fish?” Josephine asked Billy directly, her mouth still hanging open, looking extremely impressed.

 

“He sure can,” Goodnight said, fairly jumping on the idea. “Fish, dolphins, sharks…he just opened his mouth and a stream of silver bubbles came rushing out, and that shark understood and swam right away. But Billy chased it off to make sure, diving and whirling and skimming through the waves.”

 

Goodnight looked up at Billy with a quiet smile.

 

“He looked just like a sea lion.”

 

There were moments when Billy loved Goodnight so fiercely it was like having the breath knocked out of him. This was one of those moments.

 

Goodnight went on, shifting the story into a tale of fantastic ocean adventures of a more general sort: of huge sand castles at the bottom of the sea where the mermaids lived and raced with each other on the backs of seahorses that flew through the water; of huge forests of seaweed that stretched for miles and miles before breaking off into steep ocean cliffs where pearls and diamonds sparkled in the rocks, and when the sun came over the ocean a certain way they lit up the trenches with a million dazzling crystal lights; of places in the ocean with underwater waves that crashed together sending up watery tornadoes that rocked the ships above them; how when schools of fish swam together, dipping and darting at the same time it was an underwater ballet, and how every time a whale cried it was the soul of a sailor floating through the deep, calling out for home…

 

Billy listened to it all with an ache so deep it was almost painful.

 

“…and then as the sailors lay their heads down, their beds of seafoam carried them over the waves, softer than water, lighter than air, practically floating as they slipped over the sea, the moonlight dappling across them, kissing their faces with silvery beams, and the waves rocked them back and forth, back and forth, back and forth…”

 

Goodnight’s voice trailed away like the last sprays of ocean mist off a wave. The only sounds left were the crackling of the fireplace and the gentle breathing of the children who were fast asleep, every last one.

 

Goodnight gently adjusted his two little nieces where they were leaning against his chest, their faces peaceful beneath their curls. Arthur was leaning back against his mother’s legs, her hand resting gently on the side of his head.

 

Goodnight looked them over with a smile, and then glanced at his sister.

 

“That oughta do it, don’t you think?” he asked her in a murmur.

 

She let out a breath that was both grateful and fond. “I don’t know how you do it, Goody. But your audience and I appreciate it.”

 

“Audience, huh?” Goodnight said with a low chuckle, looking back to his nieces and nephew who were completely passed out. “Such as they are.”

 

“Bedtime,” Susanna said with a decisive nod, and bent down to pull her son up. He mumbled a little but she managed to pick him up with a small _oomph_ , shifting his weight easily enough even though his feet weren’t too far from the carpet. “I swear they get bigger every day. Mister Rocks, do you mind?” she asked, nodding to where Goodnight was sitting.

 

Billy snapped out of his trance and got up, walking over to where Goodnight was pinned to his armchair by the weight of his two sleeping nieces. Billy bent down over them, uncertain as to which one he should take.

 

“Here, she’s trapping me less,” Goodnight murmured to Billy, their foreheads almost brushing. Billy nodded and reached for the smallest girl, gently disentangling her from Goody and holding her easily against his chest with one arm, her head falling to his shoulder comfortably. He reached out with his other hand to help Goody to his feet while he supported his other niece.

 

They followed Susanna upstairs in a procession, each of them holding onto a sleepy child. Susanna disappeared into a room with Arthur and left Goodnight and Billy waiting in the shadowed hall as the girls slept soundly on their shoulders. Billy looked over at Goodnight who was leaning on the wall opposite him. Goody gave him a smile, brushing away a strand of his niece’s hair that had gotten caught in his mouth, and Billy felt a pang in his chest he couldn’t identify.

 

Susanna came back out and held out her hands to take Josephine from Goodnight.

 

“You’ve done enough work for one night,” she said. “We’ll take the girls to their room. This way, Mister Rocks.”

 

She gave her brother a kiss, adjusting her daughter in her arms and walked down the hall, glancing back at Billy and tilting her head for him to follow. Billy glanced at Goodnight uncertainly, but Goody just gave him a nod.

 

He walked down the long hallway after Susanna, following her through the door she opened. The room was large and spacious with a wide picture window that had moonlight streaming in. The floor was strewn with dolls that Susanna stepped easily around.

 

“Watch your step,” she said to Billy, nodding to where toys littered the carpet, but there was enough light coming in for him to navigate them easily. She walked over to one of the beds and handily pulled back the covers, setting Josephine down onto the mattress.

 

“Annabelle sleeps over there,” Susanna said quietly, pointing to a smaller bed across the room as she pulled a nightgown over her daughter, gently but efficiently taking off Josephine’s shoes and stockings.

 

Billy walked over and set down the small girl, realizing she was still clutching the pen he’d flipped at her. He carefully took it out of her tiny hands and set it on the bedside table. He looked at Susanna to see what to do next. Surely she didn’t mean for him to dress her for bed?

 

But Susanna was already walking over holding another nightgown which she slipped over the girl, taking off her dress beneath it, undressing her in the same soft, brisk motions as her other daughter. She pressed a kiss to her daughter’s forehead and stroked her hair once, the movements of a woman who’d done this a thousand times before but for whom it had never become mere habit, even six children later.

 

She straightened up and Billy didn’t know if he should make some excuse to leave, but she beckoned him over to the picture window. It was large and curved away from the outside of house, leaving room inside the bedroom for a cushioned place to sit, a perfect nook for reading.

 

“This used to be Goody’s room,” Susanna said, confirming what Billy had just been starting to wonder. She pointed out the window to where a long branch of an oak tree was curving outside, its leaves tickling the glass. “He was always getting into trouble for sneaking out and climbing that tree. Sometimes pretending he was a character in one of his books and acting out little adventures. Sometimes just to see the stars.”

 

She adjusted the curtain by the window, her mouth curving a little.

 

“Once we started to notice that certain things in the house were starting to disappear. Pillows, candlesticks, silverware and the like. Daddy thought it might have been one of the slaves. Well, former slaves, pardon me” she corrected herself. “He had them all lined up and was just about to question them when Goody saw what was happening and fessed up.”

 

The corner of her mouth twitched. “He looked nervous as hell, knees knocking, but said in a clear voice, just as bold as you please that he’d been trying to build a tree fort out there, just like in The Swiss Family Robinson. He figured if he lived up there full-time then it would count as his home and he couldn’t get into trouble for sneaking out.”

 

Billy huffed out a laugh, and Susanna smiled at him.

 

“I thought Daddy would give him a whipping for sure, but he just laughed till the tears came out of his eyes and made a whole batch of punch for everyone to apologize, even giving Goody a little taste.”

 

She shook her head fondly. “Goody could always get away with murder.”

 

Billy started at that. He thought of riding beside Goody during the day, having to call the man’s name louder and louder to get his attention while the man sat atop his horse, right next to Billy but his eyes and mind a thousand miles away… of long nights spent holding Goody close while he shivered through dreams and made choked sounds in his sleep…of clutching Goody’s shaking shoulders when he jerked awake from the particularly bad ones, his eyes gradually starting to recognize Billy, head falling to Billy’s shoulder once he did, and Billy stroking his back and pretending he couldn’t feel the hot tears on his neck…

 

 _No he can’t_ , Billy thought.

 

Susanna noticed the drop in Billy’s face and sat down by the window, patting the cushion next to her. Billy sat down a bit stiffly, not knowing what he was in for. But Susanna didn’t leave him waiting.

 

“Thank you for saving Goody’s life,” she said directly.

 

Billy looked at her confused.

 

“I don’t mean when you were talking to the shark,” she said a bit dryly, and Billy couldn’t help the twitch of his lip.

 

“You didn’t see him when he first got back,” she said in a low voice, not needing to say from what. “I almost didn’t recognize him. We sent a flesh-and-blood man up there but the North sent back a ghost.”

 

She paused. “I was about to say it broke our mother’s heart but that’s not true. I think her heart was already broken the moment they read out the lists of the deceased and she had to hear Robicheaux three times. After that it was only a matter of time before her heart gave out completely. No mother ever wants to lose a child,” she added a bit quietly.

 

 _Except mine,_ Billy thought. _She sold me_.

 

But he made himself push the thought aside. He was listening to Susanna now, not to the bitter young man inside of him.

 

She sighed. “You could see him trying so hard when he got back. Trying to make up for all the extra space. People expected him to still be the same Goody and you could tell he didn’t want to disappoint them. He’d speak when spoken to, laugh when it was expected of him…but you could tell he was just going through the motions. It was unsettling. He was just pretending to be Goodnight.”

 

She looked at Billy squarely. “It doesn’t look like he’s pretending with you. I don’t know if it’s just with you, or if it’s because of you, but…oh I know we don’t really know each other, Mister Rocks, but I feel as though I should thank you just the same.”

 

Billy didn’t know what to say to that. Other than a few quips and absently running through a list of details of his country at dinner, he hadn’t really hadn’t spoken all that much to her. He cleared his throat.

 

“Thank you. But…it’s really Goody who deserves the credit.”

 

Billy believed it too. Goodnight was brave in a way that Billy wasn’t. Oh Billy had tenacity and resourcefulness in spades. And Billy had seen his own share of hell sure enough. But it wasn’t bravery that had gotten him through it. He’d gotten through it with doggedness, gritted teeth, and sheer determination. What else was there to do?

 

Billy didn’t know what it was like to be scared just to go through the day sometimes. To be too scared to fall asleep but brave enough to wake up the following morning, and hopeful enough to do it all over again.

 

“Maybe so,” Susanna said. “But for all that he’s a friendly man, he’s never had as many friends as you might expect. True friends, that is. And I can tell you’re one.”

 

Billy bit his lip, looking for something to say. He’d been about to say it was his pleasure, but that didn’t really seem to cover it.

 

“It’s…my privilege,” he settled on quietly.

 

He looked at his knees and they sat by the window in silence.

 

“I’m going to stay in here with them for a while,” Susanna said eventually, her voice a bit throaty, nodding towards her daughters. “Will you be able to find your room, Mister Rocks?”

 

Billy stood up. “Yes, thank you.” He was about to turn away when he paused.

 

“You can call me Billy if you like.”

 

He left the children’s room in a bit of a daze, walking down the carpeted hallway and turning into his room automatically. He didn’t take in any of it, looking instead at the strip of light under the door to the bathroom between his and Goody’s room. He walked over to it and opened the door to see Goody still dressed but with his vest off and his sleeves pushed up, scrubbing water over his face, droplets dripping from his beard. He dragged his hands over his face and caught Billy’s eye in the mirror. Goodnight smiled when he saw him.

 

The ache that had been building in Billy’s chest all evening intensified, like someone had grabbed hold of his heart and squeezed. He walked towards Goodnight and turned him around by the elbow. And in one motion he was pulling Goody towards him, sliding a hand behind Goodnight’s head, and closing his mouth over Goody’s, kissing him with all the words he didn’t have.

 

Goodnight’s hands flew up to grasp Billy’s arms. He closed his eyes, his lips parting beneath Billy’s. Billy tightened his hand in the man’s hair and gently backed him into the counter, kissing him all the while. Billy let himself feel everything from the soft press of Goodnight’s lips under his, the scratch of his whiskers against Billy’s chin, to Goodnight’s hands which had slid around Billy’s waist, holding him close, letting Billy take his fill. Billy tilted his head, tightened his arms around Goodnight, and kissed the man absolutely breathless.

 

How long they stood there pressed together, mouths sliding, hands caressing, Billy couldn’t say. But when he finally drew back it was to see Goodnight’s chest rising and falling, lips red and shining and parted, his eyelids heavy at half-mast revealing two dazed strips of blue.

 

“My word, Billy,” he breathed.

 

Billy leaned in and pressed a softer kiss to the corner of his mouth.

 

“Get some sleep,” he murmured, and he turned around to go back to his room, quietly closing the bathroom door behind him.

 

 

 

 

 

 


	2. Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Thank you so much for the lovely feedback on Part 1 and I hope you enjoy Part 2!)

 

 

 

 

 

The next morning was full of clattering feet, Susanna making sure the children had everything packed, servants rushing about and making sure they’d finished all their duties before the time off they’d be getting while the family was away, and barely enough room to think.

 

Billy’s head was pounding.

 

“…now we’re only leaving for Lafayette in the afternoon so it’ll be nice to have at least one outing with you before we leave,” Susanna was saying to Goody. “But you two are welcome to use the place as long as you like, just try and keep it _somewhat_ clean, Goody? All the help that isn’t coming with us will be taking their vacations, will you be able to manage the house by yourselves?”

 

“We’ll be fine, won’t we Billy?” Goodnight asked.

 

Billy stared at the wall, rubbing his temples.

 

“Billy?” Goody asked, exchanging a glance with his sister.

 

“Yeah,” Billy answered, coming to again, not having taken in a word. “Thank you,” he added to Susanna.

 

“Well has everyone eaten enough?” Susanna asked around. “Then let’s get going. It’s a nice enough day to walk, we have all morning, and the driver will meet us at the station with our bags.”

 

They left the large house, the children spilling out ahead of them onto the sidewalk, all in their best travel clothes, full of buoyant energy at getting to go on an outing _and_ taking the train later. Susanna and Goody followed behind them, Susanna yelling out warnings for them to not run on too far ahead. Billy trailed the pack.

 

They were attracting some stares. People eyes would fall first to the scampering children, smiling at the pretty picture they made. Then they would make a polite nod to Susanna who was almost certainly one of the pillars of the community. Their eyes would fall to Goodnight and people would break out into wide grins and yell greetings at Goodnight when they realized he was back in town. And then their faces would turn to Billy and freeze.

 

Billy pulled his hat over his eyes. He hadn’t slept enough to deal with this. Actually he hadn’t slept at all. He’d kept tossing and turning on the mattress, much softer than he was used to. It had also felt emptier. Billy was used to sleeping with Goody’s back pressed against his chest, his own arm slung loosely over Goodnight’s waist. He’d missed the sounds of Goodnight’s quiet breathing, the slow beat of his heart that Billy could feel even through the man’s back. Hell, Billy even got more sleep on Goody’s worst nights than he had last night.

 

He walked a little faster and drew level with Goodnight, walking on the inside of the pavement so that people might miss him entirely.

 

Goodnight glanced over. “You look rough. Did you sleep at all?”

 

“Did you?” Billy asked, turning his head to pretend to look at some dogwoods in someone’s garden when he was really just avoiding a distinguished looking older man whose jaw had dropped when he’d noticed Billy, and was now craning his neck to get a better look.

 

Goodnight shrugged. “Like a log actually.” He had no reason to lie to Billy, or Susanna for that matter. Billy felt a momentary stab of pettiness that Goody had apparently slept just fine without him, and was then immediately appalled at himself. What the hell was the matter with him? If Goodnight had had even a moment’s peace, well then that was all Billy ever really wanted for him. Billy knew he’d sleep a mile away from Goodnight every night if he thought it would help at all.

 

“So where are we going again?” Billy asked.

 

“The zoo,” Susanna chimed in. “It’s still rather new and the children have been once before but they loved it. We’ll have enough time to get some lunch as well before our train.”

 

Billy stopped short. Goodnight turned to look at him.

 

“I –“ Billy swallowed. “I’m actually not feeling that well after all.” The lie tasted acidic in his mouth.

 

“You sick?” Goodnight asked, forehead creasing.

 

“No I…you’re right. I didn’t sleep,” Billy said. “I don’t think I’m up for it.”

 

Goodnight had seen Billy ride through entire nights and still manage to outdraw anyone he came across in competition the next morning, quick as a flash and without a hint of fatigue dulling his reflexes. But if Goody found it strange that Billy now couldn’t manage a morning outing he didn’t show it.

 

Goodnight leaned in. “Do you want me to go back with you?” he asked in a low voice.

 

“Don’t you dare,” Billy said. He wasn’t about to pull Goody away from his last morning with his family.

 

“Well if you’re sure,” Goody said slowly, and Billy nodded.

 

“I am sorry to hear that,” Susanna said, and looking like she meant it. “The children and I were looking forward to spending some time with you too. And we’re leaving straight after, I fear we won’t get a chance to – oh Goody, go after them, would you? They’re getting too far ahead.”

 

Goodnight gave Billy a questioning look but Billy just gave him a quick, tight smile. Goody clapped Billy on the shoulder, fingers tightening for just a moment in Billy’s dark jacket before going to catch up to the children.

 

Susanna turned back to Billy. “Do you know how to get back? Serafine is leaving to visit her family soon but if you hurry she can still let you in. If not here’s a spare key,” she said, fishing around in her satin bag. “Goody has the other one, but he’s bound to lose it.”

 

She handed a key to Billy, saying: “The servants will be gone but help yourself to absolutely anything you like, alright? Goody knows where everything is, and you can both have the run of the place while everyone’s gone. Please think of it as your home while we’re away.”

 

Billy knew he would probably never be comfortable enough in the large house to reach quite that level but he took the key from Susanna’s gloved hand, nodding in genuine gratitude.

 

She looked at him with her steady hazel eyes.

 

“I fear we won’t see each other again,” she said simply. “It would be nice if you were both still here when we got back but I know how Goody takes off, and if you’re with him, well…” she trailed off and lifted her shoulders a bit helplessly.

 

Billy suspected they wouldn’t be coming across each other again as well. He’d had no small measure of trepidation over meeting Goody’s last living sibling, but he wasn’t prepared for how sorry he’d feel at the thought of them not meeting again.

 

“Thank you again,” she said, lifting an eyebrow at him, and he knew she was referring to their discussion last night.

 

Billy just shook his head. “Thank you,” he said, meaning it.

 

She took his hands in hers, the rough fabric of his riding gloves scraping over her satin ones as they stood on the sidewalk. A somewhat older man with an enormous mustache walked past them and stopped, looking scandalized.

 

“And how are you, Mister Merriweather?” Susanna said to him in a loud voice. “I hope that problem your wife told me about hasn’t been troubling you any further. If you speak to Dr. Heath I’m sure he can recommend a suitable cream.”

 

The man flushed red and kept walking. Susanna turned primly back to Billy. He looked at her shocked for a moment before barking out a genuine laugh. She grinned, and Billy realized he had only seen her closed-mouthed smile so far, which was warm but still very proper. But when she was turning a toothy and slightly crooked grin on him, he finally thought for the first time that maybe she did look something like her brother.

 

“Oh Billy, I’d kiss you right now if I didn’t think it would just embarrass you,” she laughed, but sounded apologetic that she couldn’t perform the sisterly gesture in public.

 

Billy grinned back. “Not as embarrassing as it would be for your neighbours.”

 

“Our loss.”

 

Billy brushed a thumb over the back of her gloved hand thoughtfully. And then he took a step back and bent low, lifting her hand in his. He raised it to his lips and lightly pressed a kiss there. He straightened back up and she smiled at him.

 

And then she was turning around and walking up the street after her children, her back straight, the elegant knot of her chestnut hair peeking out from under her hat and glinting slightly under the Louisiana sun.

 

Billy watched her go until she disappeared around the corner. But just as he was turning away to go back to the house he heard a shout.

 

“Mister Rocks!”

 

Arthur Goodnight was sprinting back down the street, holding something in his hands. He reached Billy huffing, his neatly pressed suit looking a little more rumpled.

 

“I finished ‘em this morning,” he said panting, holding out a sweaty palm. In it was a pair of wooden chopsticks. They were a little uneven but smooth, and tapered neatly into two points. He’d even scratched out a little swirling pattern into the thicker ends.

 

Billy had completely forgotten the boy’s offer. Arthur Goodnight still looked a little intimidated by Billy, but he chanced a look up him. And when Billy looked back he was staring at what might as well have been Goody’s eyes. The colour was wrong but all the earnestness was there.

 

“Thank you,” he said, taking them carefully.

 

They stood there on the sidewalk, Arthur awkwardly scuffing his shining travel boots into the ground a little. It gave Billy an idea.

 

“Here,” he said, kneeling down and working fingers into his right boot. He drew out a small knife that he’d taken to strapping there in a black leather sheath. He stood back up and handed it to Arthur.

 

“For when you get too big for that penknife of yours,” Billy said.

 

Arthur’s mouth dropped as he took it. He looked at Billy in astonished delight.

 

“Don’t tell your mother,” Billy said dryly.

 

“Gol _ly_ ,” he crowed, sticking it into his own boot. “Thank you, Mister Rocks!”

 

Billy’s lip quirked and he touched his fingers to the brim of his hat at the boy. Arthur scampered off and Billy bit back a grin, heading back to the house for real this time.

 

His walk back was no less full of stares than it had been the first time around, and this was exactly why Billy knew he couldn’t have managed going to a zoo. Seeing all the exotic animals in cages, taken from far-off places to be gawked at and sold to the highest bidder…some things were just a little too relatable.

 

He’d been feeling a low warmth from his partings with Susanna and then her son, but it had all been snuffed out by the time he got back to the house, walking up to the broad door with its white paint and brass knocker. He took it in hand and tried rapping it first to see if any of the servants were still there to let him in.

 

He heard a _psst_ and turned his head seeing a portly man with a florid face leaning over the low fence between Susanna’s home and the neighbouring house. The man was snapping at him to get his attention.

 

“Tradesmen’s entrance is around the back,” he said pompously.

 

Billy stared at him and then turned back to the door, knocking again, a little more quickly this time.

 

“You speak English, boy?” the man asked. “Go. Around. Back,” he said, swinging his arm exaggeratedly for emphasis, sketching it out.

 

Billy shoved his hand into his pocket and took out the key, forcing himself to do it calmly as he stuck it in the door.

 

“What in the hell?” the man asked, his face turning red. “Where the hell’d you get that? Where’s Susanna? Did you steal that? Hey I am _talking_ to you, boy!”

 

The man started to come around the fence, drawing a pearl-handled pistol out of his voluminous jacket. Billy’s hand shot towards his boot automatically when he realized with a jolt he’d just given the knife away.

 

Just then the door opened and Serafine was stepping onto the front stoop in travelling clothes, just on her way out. Billy looked up at her from where he was still in a half-crouch, his heart hammering. She looked between him and the man who was now striding into Susanna’s yard.

 

“Serafine, what the hell’s the meaning of this?” he barked. “Caught this sneaking sunnavabitch trying to –“

 

She opened her mouth and unleashed a volley of French at him, gesturing between Billy and the house, and pointing at the neighbour accusatorially. Billy caught Susanna’s name being used a couple times as she continued to let loose a string of severe reprimands, giving the neighbour a telling off that needed no translation for him, or Billy for that matter.

 

She took Billy’s shoulder and pushed him firmly into the house where he stepped into the front hallway, trying to get his breathing under control.

 

He heard the front door close and sensed Serafine’s gaze on his back. He forced himself to steady his shoulders, trying not to make it evident how much they wanted to shake. Showing weakness or appearing to be at all desperate was what got men like him killed.

 

Serafine walked past him and tapped Billy’s elbow.

 

“ _Viens,_ ” she said walking down the hall, beckoning him. He followed her into the kitchen where she sat Billy down at the kitchen table untying her bonnet and setting it down. She began bustling around the kitchen, putting on some coffee and taking down a mug, talking to Billy all the while. He didn’t understand a word but she didn’t let that stop her and kept chatting away in a brisk tone that washed around him in thick, rolling syllables. Billy felt his shoulders start to relax in increments.

 

She set down a steaming mug in front of him. His throat still felt too tight to swallow but he took it in between his hands, letting the heat bleed into his skin, staring down into the cup. When he looked back up at Serafine her face matched the swirling contents: dark, warm, and somewhat bitter as she sighed and glanced out the kitchen window to the neighbour’s house, and then back at Billy.

 

“ _Je sais_ ,” she said simply.

 

Billy nodded. “ _Merci_ ,” he said thanking her, glad this was one word he knew.

 

A hint of surprise sparked in her dark eyes and her sharp face softened at Billy. And Billy could suddenly vividly remember the first time he’d ever met Goodnight. He’d bought the man a drink and Goody had casually thanked him in some Korean he'd just happened to know by sheer coincidence. The word had been a little disjointed but perfectly intelligible, and it had shocked the _hell_ out of Billy. He hadn’t heard a single word of his language in years, and suddenly here was this stranger casually throwing one out in a dusty saloon way out in the middle of nowhere like it was something people did every day.

 

Serafine was talking again, pointing to the clock, and Billy gathered that she was going to be late if she didn’t get a move on. She stood up and retrieved her bonnet from the kitchen table, placing it back over her hair, getting ready to go. But before she did she squeezed one of Billy’s shoulders, a brisk yet almost motherly gesture.

 

Once she was gone Billy sat at the kitchen table a while longer, holding the cup of coffee she’d poured him, letting the heat fill his hands. Finally he drank it down and after cleaning it he decided to have a look around the house. From the way that people had greeted Goody in the streets, Billy assumed they’d be staying at least a week so that Goody could catch up with old acquaintances. He might as well start feeling slightly comfortable in the place. That and his encounter with Goody’s old nanny had started to make Billy just a little more curious about Goody’s childhood home.

 

He walked through the halls of the house a little aimlessly. Its emptiness was disconcerting, and the fact that he could wander through the rooms as he pleased was a little unnerving to him. It felt like he was going to bump into one of his former masters with every corner he turned. He kept expecting to hear the rattle of a carriage outside which meant the business-end of a cane if they walked in to find Billy loafing. With the halls becoming a little too overwhelming for him, Billy slipped into the next room he came across, closing the door softly behind him.

 

When he turned around he realized he was in a library. It was full of dark shining shelves that stretched around the perimeter of the room, an old piano off to one side, its elegantly carved legs digging into the deep red carpet. A table of liquor bottles stood in the corner, and the whole room looked a little more masculine and old-fashioned than the rest of the house. Billy remembered Susanna saying this had been her father’s space, and he guessed that in her redecorating she’d left this room largely untouched, perhaps out of sentiment.

 

He walked slowly around the room taking it in, brushing his hands over the ivory keys of the piano. He trilled his fingers over the higher keys, pinging out a cluster of notes. But he didn’t continue since music was more Goody’s area. Sometimes they’d come across a saloon with a piano, and after charming whichever old, grizzled person with a few songs to their name the saloon had found for an evening’s entertainment, Goody would slide into the seat. His fingers would lilt and lope easily over the keys, playing his songs a little rustily but with the musical assurance of one who’d grown up with regular lessons. Those pianos tended to be out of tune but it didn’t matter to Goody or the patrons. Both were equally delighted by the sounds that filled the room as Goody turned the gritty saloon into a concert hall. The regular pianist never felt bad though because Goody would always buy him several drinks, and after a few rounds they’d be bellowing out any cowboy songs they both knew. Goody would try to get Billy to join in sometimes but Billy would turn him down. Much like when they were in group conversations, it wasn’t that Billy was shy: he just liked listening to Goody so much.

 

Billy abandoned the piano in favor of perusing the shelves, looking for something to read. It wasn’t like he had anything else to do. He ignored the huge, leather-bound encyclopedias on the lower shelves in favor of the slimmer books with brighter covers that looked like they might have been fiction. Grabbing one at random he brought it over to the couch in the middle of the room. He kicked his boots off and swung his feet up onto the couch, feeling a little rebellious about it. It reminded him of when everyone had gone for the day in the first house where he used to work. He and the scullery maid would sneak into the parlor to pinch a couple of the soft, plush cushions, and bring them below stairs so they could place them on their hard uncomfortable chairs while they polished the silver. If they had spilled even just a drop of polish onto the cushions then the jig would have been up, but they never spilled.

 

Billy opened the book to the front page where there was a childish scrawling in the top corner. Handwriting was always frustrating in how much harder it was to read than normal print. He narrowed his eyes trying to make it out, and when he did his efforts were rewarded as he broke into a grin and read: THIS BOOK IS THE PROPERTY OF GOODNIGHT ROBICHEAUX (AGE 10). READ AT YOUR OWN RISK. THIS MEANS YOU, EDMOND. BUY YOUR OWN BOOKS.

 

Billy chuckled and flipped the page, smile dropping abruptly as he took in the full title: _The Life and Strange Surprizing Adventures of Robinson Crusoe, Of York, Mariner: Who lived Eight and Twenty Years, all alone in an un-inhabited Island on the Coast of America near the Mouth of the Great River of Oroonque; Having been cast on Shore by Shipwreck, wherein all the Men perished but himself. With An Account how he was at last as strangely deliver’d by Pyrates._

 

“Christ almighty,” Billy muttered. He stretched his legs out, adjusted the pillows behind his back, and settled in to see if this Robinsoe Crusoe talked as much as Goodnight.

 

It turned out that Robinson Crusoe talked even _more_ , and was much more boring about it too. He seemed to say all of his sentences backwards and Billy had to read every phrase several times to make sense of the old-fashioned way of speaking. And it wasn’t just the language that was old-fashioned: Billy skimmed through paragraphs about plantations and their slavish, improbably-contented workers a little disdainfully. But Billy soldiered on, feeling the need to get in some actual reading practice, since he was more rusty than he’d realized. It’s not like there were signs in the desert, and the only words he really had to recognize when they hit a town were ‘saloon’, sometimes ‘doctor’, and the price of beer.

 

It was a little more readable when he imagined it from a young Goody’s perspective though. Billy smiled when he read ‘Being the third son of the family and not bred to any trade, my head began to be filled very early with rambling thoughts,’ and again when Robinson Crusoe ran off to sea, buoyed by the salty spray of adventure. He could easily imagine a young Goodnight Robicheaux being taken in by this book.

 

But for the most part Billy just meandered his way through the rambling, blocky paragraphs, reading the sentences that jumped out, merely scanning the ones that didn’t. He hadn’t slept and the couch was so comfortable and Robinson Crusoe was droning again, so Billy leaned back and placed the book over his chest to mark his place and closed his eyes. He was just starting to nod off when he heard the library door open. He had a sudden instinct to bolt upwards, a servant caught loafing, but it was just Goody stepping into the library, smiling at Billy on the couch.

 

“Sorry, were you sleeping?”

 

Billy eased himself back down, stretching a little as Goody walked over, sitting on the arm of the sofa.

 

“Almost. How was the zoo?” Billy asked, his throat a bit hoarse.

 

“It was fine,” said Goodnight. “Saw the family off at the station.” His brow furrowed. “What’s this I hear about you giving my twelve-year-old nephew a _knife_?”

 

“Traitor,” Billy mumbled. “Told him not to tell.”

 

“Tell his _mother_ ,” Goodnight corrected. “Which he didn’t, but he saw no problem telling me. He must have figured he’d found a loophole.”

 

“So he really is your nephew,” Billy said, watching Goody shuck off his jacket where he was perched on the couch.

 

Goodnight snorted, draping his jacket over the back of the couch. “Only you would think a knife is an appropriate plaything for children,” he said, but he didn’t look at all mad about it. If anything he just looked amused.

 

Billy shrugged. “He can handle it. Did you see my new chopsticks?”

 

“I did.” Goodnight smiled. “What else did you get up to today besides weaponizing children?”

 

Billy didn’t feel the need to mention his encounters with Susanna’s neighbour or Serafine, so he just held up the book on his chest and Goody’s eyes lit up.

 

“Oh hey!” he said with a laugh, getting up and striding over. “I used to love that one. What do you think?”

 

“I think that after writing the title he didn’t need to bother with the rest of the book.”

 

Goodnight snorted. He took the book from Billy, looking at what page he was on. “Seriously? This is where you almost fall asleep? He’s about to get shipwrecked!”

 

“Again?” Billy asked dryly.

 

Goody smacked him gently with the book. “Philistine. Move over.”

 

Billy shuffled over to the side to make room for him and Goody slid in next to him, stretching out on the couch. Billy curled back into Goody, leaning against his chest, one arm circling over Goody’s stomach. Goody shifted a little holding the book in one hand, his other going to idly stroke Billy’s hair.

 

“Okay now, where are we?” Goodnight asked, and Billy pointed to a spot on the page at random, his hand falling back to Goodnight’s stomach where he toyed with the buttons of the man’s vest.

 

Goodnight hummed approvingly, his cheek going to rest on Billy’s hair, and he raised the book and cleared his throat.

 

“It was an inexpressible joy to me,” Goodnight began, “which any one will believe, that I was thus delivered, as I esteemed it, from such a miserable and almost hopeless condition as I was in.”

 

His fingers were running through Billy’s hair and he smelled so warm, like the sunshine outside, his weight under Billy a steady, reassuring presence. Billy turned his head more comfortably to Goody’s chest, to the soft dip just below his throat and breathed in.

 

“…I had got into an employment quite remote to my genius, and directly contrary to the life I delighted in, and for which I forsook my father’s house, and broke through all his good advice…which, if I resolved to go on with, I might as well have stayed at home and never have fatigued myself in the world as I had done…”

 

Goodnight’s voice was a low murmur and Billy closed his eyes.

 

“…five thousand miles off to do it among strangers and savages, in a wilderness, and at such a distance as never to hear from any part of the world that had the least knowledge of me…”

 

Billy tucked himself in closer to Goody, whose hand rubbed his head lightly, holding Billy gently against him. The book was much better when told through the vibrations of Goody’s chest, or when Goody was weaving the story into the strands of Billy’s hair.

 

“But I, that was born to be my own destroyer, could no more resist the offer than I could restrain my first rambling designs when my father’s good counsel was lost upon me…”

 

Billy’s limbs were getting looser, resting heavily where they were slung over Goodnight, and Billy felt himself slipping further into the soft shelter of Goody’s voice, sinking down into the reverberations of his chest, pulling the gently spoken words around himself like a blanket.

 

“…and in a word, I told them I would go with all my heart…”

 

Billy’s breathing slowed out and at those words he slipped the rest of the way into the sleep that had eluded him before.

 

 

*

 

Billy slowly blinked himself awake. The library was dark and the sun was going down outside, the window showing just a few last ripples of red and gold slowly sinking out of sight. He turned his neck to see Goodnight asleep underneath him, his mouth slightly open, one arm hanging off the couch, fingers still buried in the pages of the book.

 

Billy leaned slowly across him to reach for the book, and at his movements Goodnight started to stir.

 

“Mmwhat time is it?” he murmured, rubbing a hand over his eyes.

 

“Time for bed,” Billy said, taking the book and placing it on the table beside the couch. He got up and pulled Goodnight to his feet, Goody swaying a little. Billy slipped an arm around his waist to steady him, and Goodnight slung his arm comfortably over Billy’s shoulder.

 

They walked slowly through the empty house and up the stairs, arm-in-arm, hips brushing slightly. When they reached their hallway with their two bedroom doors, Billy silently laced his fingers through Goodnight’s and pulled him into his own room, Goodnight giving his hand a squeeze. It felt like Billy’s heart had been used as a pitcher all day: just as something filled it back up, something else was pouring it out. But now, just the mere act of leading Goodnight through the darkened room towards a bed they could both share was enough to fill him up entirely. Goodnight never stopped giving, and sometimes his presence flooded Billy so much it was like he was overflowing with it.

 

Goodnight sat down on the bed, lazily shoving the blanket aside and unbuttoning his clothes which he folded before dropping them to the floor. Billy stepped out of his own clothes, leaving them there in a heap. He gave Goodnight’s shoulder a gentle push and Goody lay all the way back on the bed with a contented yawn.

 

Billy crawled over him, heart thudding as he took in Goodnight’s body, lean in some places, softer in others, the scars in his shoulders, the freckles standing out in his forearms from when he rolled up his sleeves while riding, the paler skin of his stomach offset by the shadowed grooves of his hipbones…Billy ran a hand up Goody’s chest, hesitating a little, not even knowing where to start.

 

“Alone at last, huh?” Goodnight asked quietly, his eyes warm and just a little too understanding for Billy.

 

So Billy bent down to slide his lips over Goody’s, catching Goody’s lower lip between his teeth and giving it the lightest of nips before brushing their parted lips together slowly, once, twice, and then sealing his mouth over Goody’s completely.

 

Goody hummed into the kiss, his hands sliding lazily into Billy’s hair, winding it around his fingers the way he always did whenever they made love. Billy settled on top of him, rolling his hips into Goody’s, bracketing his arms on either side of the man as he slowly worked his mouth open, their tongues sliding unhurriedly together. They rolled onto their sides and continued to thrust languidly against each other, Billy’s hand slipping round to Goodnight’s ass to pull his hips closer to him.

 

For all that Goodnight’s limbs were sleepy and soft, his cock was stiff as a board as it slid against Billy’s, rubbing up into Billy’s hip, painting it with a few streaks of precome. Billy dropped his head to Goody’s neck, breathing him in, his fingers leaving the curve of Goody’s ass to slip just the slightest bit into the cleft.

 

He felt Goodnight smile a little against his cheek.

 

“Hope you don’t mind doing most of the work,” he said, his fingers drowsily tracing the shell of Billy’s ear.

 

Billy turned his head to kiss the skin of Goody’s neck.

 

“You’re not too tired are you?”

 

Goodnight rubbed his hands up and down Billy’s arms, tucking his face against Billy’s.

 

“That’s not what I said,” he murmured in a husky voice, hands running down Billy’s ribs and resting on Billy’s hips, giving them an insistent pull as he slowly ground up against Billy.

 

Billy’s hips stuttered involuntarily. He leaned back only long enough to reach down and fumble into his bag he’d left on the floor, withdrawing the jar of slick oil they kept. He drizzled some onto his fingers while lying on his side across from Goodnight. He leaned forward to rest his forehead against Goody’s, hand sliding back around the man and teasing slow circles around his entrance before sliding two fingers gently inside.

 

Goody sighed, his breath puffing out and tickling Billy’s lips. He braced his hands against Billy’s chest, adjusting to the fingers dragging slowly inside of him. He brushed his fingers against Billy’s nipples and Billy hissed, crooking his fingers inside of Goodnight, making the man whine a little.

 

Billy tipped his chin forward to kiss Goody open-mouthed. Goody tasted like warmth and sleep and no small measure of longing as Billy parted his fingers a little and continued to slide and circle them in and out of Goody in slick revolutions, reveling in Goody’s breathless panting into Billy’s mouth.

 

Eventually he withdrew his fingers and was pushing Goody’s hip until the man was lying flat on his back again, Billy climbing over to straddle him. Goodnight reached up to stroke the side of Billy’s face. Billy placed his own hand over Goodnight’s where it was clasped to his cheek, turning his head and kissing Goody’s palm. He parted his lips and teased the tip of his tongue to the same place, just to feel Goodnight’s hips jump up into his.

 

He drew Goody’s hand away, still holding it in his own, and squeezed some of the oil onto it. And then he was pulling the man’s hand downward, down between his legs, and closing it around his straining cock.

 

Billy groaned at the slickness, at the pressure of Goodnight’s hand as Billy tightened his fingers around him, making Goody squeeze him harder. He needed this _so_ much. It had only been a day but it somehow felt like years since he’d had Goody’s touch. Billy continued to stroke and squeeze Goody’s hand over his cock, his thighs trembling, his and Goody’s fingers laced together and slickly running over Billy’s aching cock.

 

Billy knew he was going to go off within minutes of entering Goodnight, and they could have easily finished themselves off like this. But he _needed_ to be inside of the man, needed to feel the press of him, needed Goodnight to surround him in every way possible.

 

He drew back to settle between Goody’s legs, his cock stuttering down Goody’s stomach leaving a slick trail as he reached down to raise Goody’s hips a little, lining himself up. Goody was lying back panting, looking up at Billy like he was the only person in the world. Billy reached down to trace Goody’s lips with a finger. And when Goody sucked the tip of Billy’s index finger into his mouth, Billy let out a breath and was sliding into him, the tight, slick heat stretching easily as Billy dropped his head to Goodnight’s shoulder and began to move, thrusting quickly, needily, right off the bat.

 

“Oh yeah, Billy,” Goodnight got out, whimpering a little at each desperate snap of Billy’s hips. Billy could feel Goody’s cock rubbing against his stomach where it was trapped between them, and he had enough presence of mind to press down harder to give it more pressure as it dragged against the sweat-slick muscles of Billy’s stomach.

 

Billy continued pumping into Goodnight, tucking his face into Goody’s neck. The sheets were starchier than Billy was used to and smelled almost clinically of bleach. But rubbing his nose against the damp hair on the nape of Goody’s neck, Billy breathed in the scent of tobacco, sweat, and the soap they shared on the road, all mingling together in an exhilarating, heady combination that was so familiar and intoxicating it sent Billy’s head spinning.

 

Billy realized he was moaning, Goody clenching around him like a vise, his scent enveloping Billy, his hands rubbing desperately over Billy’s back, spurring him on, one hand flying down to Billy’s ass and gripping it with a smack, urging Billy to take him deeper.

 

“Come on now,” Goodnight grunted and Billy pumped his hips desperately, mouth rubbing over Goodnight’s neck. Suddenly Goody was pressing up with his feet, hips lifting off the bed as he tried to take Billy in as much as possible.

 

“Oh god… _Goody_ ,” Billy almost cried out, a streak of fire crackling through his hips as he thrust wildly.

 

“Yeah that’s it,” Goodnight groaned, throwing his head back and clenching his teeth. And then Billy was pushing forward as hard as he could, Goody’s fingers were digging into Billy’s ass hard enough to bruise, and Billy was coming so forcefully his whole body spasmed as his legs buckled and he was collapsing over Goody, hips jerking, pulsing deeply into Goody, shuddering all the while.

 

Goody moaned and writhed beneath him, fingers scrabbling desperately over Billy’s back as he pushed up again with his hips, rutted up against Billy’s stomach once more and came in a series of hot, hard bursts that pulsed wetly between them, their raw bodies still rubbing together as they tried to chase every last flicker of heat that rushed over their skin in a series of burning sparks.

 

Billy was still shuddering as he drew out of Goodnight with a slick sound, rubbing Goody’s chest. Goody was gasping as he came down from his climax, breathing hard. Billy dipped his head and kissed him bonelessly as he gradually came back to himself. He felt Goody’s grip on his back start to ease as Goody’s lips opened pliantly beneath his. They kissed loosely for a long while and Billy could feel the thud of Goody’s heart start to slow.

 

Eventually they pulled back, looking at each other a little dazedly. Goodnight smiled and brushed his knuckles over the line of Billy’s jaw. Billy gave them a quick kiss and reluctantly disentangled himself from Goody so that he could pad softly towards the bathroom, getting a washcloth. He dipped it into the washbasin where he swirled it around a few times and wrung it out. He walked back to the bed, trailing some droplets behind him, and he settled back in beside Goody, gently running the cloth over him.

 

“Where’d you go for that, Antarctica?” Goodnight mumbled while wincing a little, the water having gone ice-cold in the basin.

 

Billy’s lip quirked. “You’re welcome to get up and go heat up some water yourself.”

 

“I take it back, you’re a prince,” Goodnight drawled as he smiled lazily up at Billy, still shivering a little but stretching into Billy’s touch.

 

“And you’re spoiled,” Billy said, but with no small amount of affection, deliberately flicking some of the cold water onto Goody’s face.

 

Goodnight laughed even as he sputtered. “You don’t _have_ to encourage it you know.”

 

“Where’s the fun in that?” Billy asked grinning. He wiped off Goodnight’s stomach and bent his head to drop a kiss there, impulsively rubbing his moustache into the man’s skin where he knew Goodnight was ticklish. He felt Goody’s hand slide into his hair, felt Goody’s stomach quake beneath his lips in silent laughter. They were both a little giddy, still floating from their lovemaking.

 

Billy had meant what he’d said though. His former ideas of looking after people had always included painfully early wakeups, long, backbreaking hours, and constantly steeling himself in the hopes that any hurled abuse would just bounce back.

 

Billy had never in his life thought that taking care of someone could ever be associated with pleasure until he’d met Goody. Not that it was _all_ easy though. Sometimes looking after Goody meant cutting through the clouds of distant eyes while he tried to pull Goody back through the fog. It meant riding through cold, rainy, and muddy conditions that at best made them snappish with each other, and at worst reminded Goody of trenches and caused him to flinch at every raindrop. And sometimes it meant staying awake for hours after Goody, wondering if Goody’s night terrors would be the normal, muted kind, or if Billy would need to pin the man’s arms to the ground before he could thrash and hurt himself in his sleep.

 

But mostly looking after Goody meant eyes that sparkled whenever Billy pointed something out to Goody just because he thought it would amuse him. It meant riding side by side and trading everything from banter to water flasks to quiet looks when the desert became a firestorm of red and golds, the sight somehow never failing to stir the heart even a thousand times over. And it meant waking up to sleep-soaked smiles when the sun was just creeping up over the hills, and the first thought of the day being _there’s nowhere else in the world I’d rather be right now than here._

 

Billy pulled back and tossed the washcloth somewhere in the vicinity of the bathroom door, assuming it had landed inside but not caring nearly enough to turn around and check. He reached for his cigarettes on the nightstand and settled back over Goodnight, half on the man, half on the soft mattress, their legs tangled together. He lit one and took a drag before placing the cigarette between Goody’s lips. Billy sigh contentedly, a flicker of smoke escaping his mouth.

 

Goody’s hand scritched at his head a little as he smoked.

 

“I ran into a bunch of people today,” he said. “And now that everyone knows I’m in town I’m probably going to have to make the rounds. Is it alright if we stay a week?”

 

He didn’t sound thrilled about it, but Billy wanted Goody to have the chance to see his former acquaintances before they left, so he nodded against Goody’s chest.

 

“Thanks,” Goodnight said, turning his head to press a kiss to Billy’s temple. “Otherwise it’s my sister who’ll have hell to pay, dealing with the fallout of ‘that Robicheaux boy, you think he’d have learned to sit still by now’,” Goody said, mimicking a scandalized southern matron.

 

Billy took back the cigarette from Goody’s fingers. “Can’t upset your sister,” he said, taking a pull of smoke.

 

“Okay, what were you two even talking about last night?” Goodnight asked, giving Billy’s foot a nudge with his own.

 

Billy blew a stream of smoke up at the ceiling. “Architecture,” he drawled.

 

“Fine, be that way,” Goody pouted. Billy chuckled and handed him the cigarette. It wouldn’t do to tell Goodnight that all they’d talked about was him.

 

“And what _do_ you think of the best architecture that Baton Rouge has to offer, pray tell?” Goody asked drolly, gesturing to the dark guest room they were lying in.

 

It was purely his post-coital haze and the warm glow of being pressed against Goodnight that had Billy nodding and saying: “It’s nice.”

 

Goody’s head swiveled to him a little skeptically. “Really?” He didn’t seem convinced.

 

Billy just shrugged. He didn’t want to be _rude_ and say he hated houses like this on principle, even if this one’s inhabitants had turned out to be more engaging than Billy could possibly have hoped for.

 

“It’s fine,” Billy said as casually as he could.

 

Goody hummed thoughtfully around the cigarette. “You wouldn’t…”

 

Billy glanced at him inquisitively, and Goody handed him the cigarette, smoke flickering from his mouth, his brow furrowed.

 

“You weren’t wanting to stay long, were you?” he asked a bit uncertainly.

 

Billy’s hand stilled as he raised the cigarette to his lips.

 

“Were you?” Billy countered casually, despite feeling like a chunk of ice had slipped down his throat, slid through his chest, and was pooling in his abdomen.

 

‘I asked you first.”

 

Billy took a pull of smoke.

 

“Wherever you go, I go.”

 

Goody turned to look at him. “Yeah but I’d go in a second if I thought you wanted to.”

 

“I want you to spend some time with your people,” Billy said, looking around for something to use as an ashtray. There was a pad of elegant notepaper on the bedside table, and he settled for that, flicking ash onto its floral pattern, a neatly drawn paper garden of roses.

 

Goodnight was giving Billy a peculiar look and Billy had to resist the urge to squirm.

 

“You’re my people, Billy,” Goodnight said slowly.

 

Billy handed him the cigarette, letting their fingers brush.

 

Goodnight took it from him, slowly rolling it between his fingers. “Billy I don’t _want_ to stay longer than we have to. I was just asking ‘cause I thought you might have liked the break.”

 

The relief was instantaneous, and Goody must have felt it in the way Billy’s body relaxed against his.

 

“Fool,” Goodnight chastised him, but he did it gently. He took a pull of the cigarette, chuckling a little around the tip. “Can you even imagine us living in a house like this though? Just think, fully-stocked larder, hot water whenever we wanted it, clean sheets –“

 

“Not anymore.”

 

Goodnight laughed and knocked Billy’s foot with his own. He smoked thoughtfully.

 

“God I could be a ‘Southern Gentleman’ again,” he said sounding a bit amazed and disdainful at the idea.

 

“You’d get bored,” Billy said. He was sure of it, but perhaps he was saying it to convince himself as well.

 

Goodnight was holding the cigarette out to him. “So we’d open a school,” he said dreamily.

 

“A _school_ ,” Billy repeated.

 

“Yeah, a school,” Goodnight said, stifling a yawn.

 

“I didn’t even finish school,” Billy said, a bit amused by Goodnight’s current stream of consciousness.

 

Goodnight waved away his protestations. “Doesn’t matter, formal education is overrated. Some of my college professors went to school their whole lives and they were still idiots.”

 

“Gee thanks,” Billy said dryly, blowing smoke.

 

“You’d be a very good teacher,” Goodnight said sleepily, moving in closer to Billy, now rubbing their feet a little.

 

“Okay,” Billy said deciding to humor his woolgathering. “And what exactly would we teach?”

 

“Sharpshooting and knife-throwing,” Goodnight said with a grin. “What else?”

 

Billy choked on his next inhale. “Christ.”

 

“What, you already hand out knives to children, don’t act like you think it’s strange.”

 

Billy’s lip quirked around the cigarette. “Let it go, Professor.”

 

“Professor Robicheaux.” Goodnight chuckled. “I like the sound of that.”

 

He spread his hands dramatically, like he was revealing a sign: “Rocks and Robicheaux’s Academy for Rebellious Runaways.”

 

He took back the cigarette which was getting shorter. “Teach all day and then retire to our home of creature comforts where I shed the skin of professor and pick up the mantle of Goodnight Robicheaux, man of the house once again.”

 

“And I could be your live-in laundryman,” Billy deadpanned.

 

Goody made a strangled sound that was part-laugh, part-distressed as he took a puff, then placed the cigarette back between Billy’s lips, following up the gesture with an apologetic kiss.

 

“Well that’s just it,” he murmured quietly before closing his eyes and settling loosely against Billy. “All this comfort isn’t worth it to me if you’re not there.”

 

He’d meant it kindly, as a way to reassure Billy, but Billy started a bit as his use of ‘comfort’. Comfort to Billy was sleeping under a wide sky so riddled and pierced with stars that it seemed like the sky might splinter and crack open at any moment. Comfort was having Goody tucked into him on blankets that were faded but soft with use, their hands clasped even as they slept. These past three years had unquestionably been the most comfortable of Billy’s life. And fancy though this guestroom might have been, to Billy the only comfortable part about it was Goodnight.

 

Goodnight protested that he wasn’t built for towns anymore either. But Billy just couldn’t imagine how anyone so used to fortune and a family could be so willing to give it all up to ride aimlessly around the South, scamming backcountry rednecks in shootouts. No matter how much he thought Billy was ‘worth it’.

 

Billy had never had cause to doubt Goody’s feelings for him, and he didn’t doubt them now. But what Billy did doubt - and maybe it was just the strangeness of this place and the stares of its people – was how much of anything he was worth at the moment, let alone the devotion of the best man he’d ever met.

 

Billy took in the last drag of the cigarette that Goodnight had saved him, feeling a pull of fondness at the gesture warring with the unpleasant clench he felt in his stomach at the thoughts he was having. God, he really wasn’t used to this kind of internal turmoil, and would be very relieved when the week was up. He blew a stream of smoke out into the elegant room, pulling Goodnight closer to him as he settled against him on the soft mattress and sighed.

 

“They're just dreams, Goody,” he said. And with that he leaned back towards the pad of paper with its drawings of flowers that you’d never see growing in the desert, a stationary garden in neat little rows, and was stubbing the cigarette out.

 

 

*

 

 

For all that they were only planning on staying in Goody’s sister’s house for a week, during that week they had fallen into a bit of a routine that involved Billy mostly just staying in the house while Goody went out to pay calls on his former neighbours and acquaintances, all wanting to reconnect with the man from their hometown who’d grown into a legend while he was away.

 

Anytime Goody mentioned an invitation he’d look doubtfully at Billy and ask Billy if he wouldn’t rather Goodnight stay in with him. He looked like he wanted Billy to ask. But Billy just encouraged Goody to go out every time. After this, who knew what region they’d end up in next? Billy didn’t want Goodnight to be riding with him somewhere far away, wishing he’d seen more of his hometown when he’d had the chance.

 

A couple times Goodnight had tried to get Billy to join him, but Billy had absolutely no interest. It’s not that he thought these families wouldn’t allow him inside: who would ever turn down Goodnight Robicheaux? But Billy had no need to sit in the parlors of the most sophisticated of Southern society and be looked at as a curiosity while people wondered what the hell Goodnight was doing with him. So when people came by the house to extend an invitation to Goody, Billy urged him to take it every time. Just because Billy’s socializing had to be restricted didn’t mean that Goodnight’s should be.

 

Billy had gone out for groceries a few times while Goody was out. Walking around with a large basket of food cut the stares in half by a mile, people just assuming he was someone’s servant out to get supper for the family. Better than a shield that grocery basket was. But even so, coming back to the house and walking up the front steps, Billy was sure he could see the flicker of curtains in the house next door, sure he could feel waves of indignation from its occupant, still scandalized at Billy using the front door.

 

That was only part of the reason Billy had taken to carrying a fair carvery of knives on him when he went out, not having forgotten the flash of fear when he’d reached for the one in his boot and remembered it wasn’t there. He generally always had a few on him, but he’d been tucking more into his vest, his jacket, even sliding a thin, sharp rod under the dark ribbon of his hat. If he tripped he’d probably be skewered, and he should really look into a better system for carrying.

 

So Billy mostly stayed in. While Goody went about town paying his respects to his former townspeople, Billy wandered about the huge empty house, slowly starting feel less like a former master was going to jump out at him. He still preferred to stay in the library though. He’d just about given up on Robinson Crusoe, the ever-spiraling sentences giving him more of a headache than the story was worth. But he’d found a new one to busy himself with: The Swiss Family Robinson. He’d been running his hand along the dusty spines of colourful books, stopping when he saw this one, Susanna’s voice floating back to him:

 

 _“Goody_ _said in a clear voice, just as bold as you please that he’d been trying to build a tree fort out there, just like in The Swiss Family Robinson.”_

Billy was willing to give one of Goody’s childhood favourites another chance and when he’d cracked the book open and read about a shipwreck on the very first page, he couldn’t tamp down the coil of fondness in his heart. Goody and his shipwrecks. Billy was genuinely surprised it was the desert that Goody had gone running off to for solace after the war, and not the sea.

 

The Robinsons turned out to be a lot more engaging than Robinson Crusoe – no relation - and spoke modernly enough that Billy didn’t have to read every sentence five times just to make heads or tails of it. And Billy was content enough to spend his days on the library’s sofa, steadily working his way through the book about this family who all seemed to get along and were having a grand old time setting up their island home. Even though they did seem to shoot more animals than Billy thought was strictly necessary.

 

The animals were actually where Billy had his work cut out for him though, and he found himself even cracking into the immense, dark-covered encyclopedias on the bottom shelves to figure out what half of them were. It’s not that they were animals he’d never heard of…he’d just never heard their English names before. Billy had grown up in California, why the hell would he know what a ‘penguin’ was called?

 

And come to think of it…

 

“Why are there penguins on this island?” Billy asked Goodnight accusatorially one day, when the man had walked into the library, tired from a long day of social calls. Goodnight stopped in his tracks at the sight of Billy standing over a heap of encyclopedias strewn on the table, his hair flying out of his bun, and holding onto Goody’s old book with a bit of a manic glint in his eyes.

 

“You’re making some headway aren’t you?” Goodnight asked, his lips twitching, some tiredness slipping off his shoulders.

 

“ _Penguins_ , Goody,” Billy repeated indignantly, brandishing the book at him like Goody had written it himself. “Right next to the…what do you call them…flemmings? The pink fucking things.”

 

“Flamingoes?” Goody said, the fatigue in his eyes being replaced by genuine amusement and delight at Billy’s state.

 

“FLAMINGOES,” Billy all but shouted. “You expect me to believe there are flamingoes and penguins and tigers and kangaroos all on the same damn tropical island? This book is ridiculous,” he fumed, despite still holding it as he walked to to the sofa and flopped back down on it, still riled up from his research break.

 

Goodnight walked over with his mouth full of mirth, lifting up Billy’s feet to sit under them, placing them back in his lap where he’d started to massage them. “No one’s forcing you to read it.”

 

“Shut up,” Billy answered, lifting the book in front of his face to continue.

 

Goodnight always seemed to prefer staying in with Billy than going out. He was being swamped with people’s offers for tea or luncheon, everyone wanted to have some claim to the returning local hero. Goodnight obliged them all considerately, but he looked stretched thin, worn down. He slept normally – or normally for Goody – but was always walking back through the front door looking a bit jittery.

 

Once Billy had decided to take the time to heat up water on the stove before filling the house’s large copper bathtub. He’d been lying back in the water, eyes closed, leisurely jerking himself off because why not, when a tense-looking Goodnight had walked in. He’d taken one look at Billy leaning back in the tub with his eyes hooded, his lips parted, hand stroking between his legs. And then he’d strode across the room to Billy and was thrusting his arm into the water, not even bothering to roll up his sleeves. He’d closed his hand around Billy’s flushed cock, and was desperately, almost brutally bringing him off, his mouth pressed against Billy’s wet hair, Billy’s hands weakly trying to grip his clothes as he whimpered and arched into Goodnight’s fist, water splashing and his body jerking as he came.

 

And then just as abruptly as he’d come in, Goodnight had walked back into the bedroom they’d started sharing after everyone left, the line of his shoulders having loosened somewhat, but his gait still tense. Billy had gotten out of the tub and followed him to see if Goodnight couldn’t be persuaded to let some of that restless energy out inside of Billy.

 

Goody could _absolutely_ be persuaded.

 

Billy still thought the bed felt too large and soft sometimes but he’d say this for it: the privacy of the room meant sleeping naked with Goody every night. There were too many elements in the desert for sleeping naked to ever feel truly comfortable, and they didn’t do it in saloons unless they felt very sure about the locks on their door. But, in the privacy of the guestroom, they’d taken to sleeping fairly plastered to each other, high on the contact of skin on skin, their limbs tangled any way they could fit. It reminded Billy a bit of when they’d first gotten together and would spend every night practically glued as they slept facing each other, breathing each other in, arms wrapped as tightly as possible like something might come in the night and try to separate them just now that they’d found this with each other.

 

They’d been sleeping that way again lately, and mornings had them gradually waking up with every part of them already touching, making it easy for one of them to start slowly shifting their hips as they rocked together until the space between them became stiff and damp, taking turns squeezing their legs tight for the other to rut lazily between. Those were the times when Billy forgot everything about where they were except for Goody’s hands dancing over the skin of his back, his breath tickling Billy’s neck, his thighs pressed close creating a soft, heavenly pressure for Billy to thrust between, his even more heavenly voice murmuring for Billy to _just take what you need, Sweetheart, take it all, come on, I’m all yours, yeah, come for me, Billy, that’s it, I’ve got you…_

Then they’d go downstairs, throw some kind of breakfast together and eat it on the library carpet in a way that felt reminiscent of their camping. Goody would drift over to the piano afterwards, his fingers falling back into the songs he’d learned long ago, and Billy would crack open his book. Those were the only moments Billy felt truly comfortable in the house: lying back on the sofa, occasionally asking Goody to clarify a word for him, Goody pausing his music to think of an answer, and then returning to the keys, continuing to spin his melodies around them both.

 

So the mornings weren’t so bad, but then there would invariably be a knock on the front door, some neighbour with an invitation for Goody that Billy would always urge the man to accept. Billy knew Goody could see him anytime on the road, but they probably only had this chance for him to see people from his hometown again.

 

But anytime Goody left the house to go see some neighbour, he looked as though he was preparing for battle and the sitting rooms of the Southern gentry were the fighting grounds. Goodnight was often acting when they went from town to town: performance was in his nature. But Billy could tell when he was doing it for his own amusement and when he was doing it for protection. And when he was walking out into the streets of Baton Rouge, Goodnight steeled himself as straight as his rifle before coating himself in a layer of impenetrable charm meant to last as far as walking back inside. The pretense made Billy ache almost as much as when Goodnight finally came back in, his smile brittle and his limbs tense as he leaned back against the front door as though barricading it, trying to pretend that the breaths he took were even and controlled. Billy was starting to wish he’d never encouraged the man to go out. He thought he’d been doing it for the man’s own good, but he was beginning to see the socializing take its toll on him.

 

Billy wanted to _go_. He wanted to leave this place and drag Goody with him, and ride off until the pounding of hooves could work out the knots in their bodies and drive away every last cloud that had been forming in the heads.

 

And yet when the week was up, Billy had asked – casually – when Goodnight thought they’d be leaving. Goodnight had apologized and said he’d ordered some things for the road but they were taking longer than he thought to come through. Billy hadn’t pushed it, but he’d felt something in his chest crack.

 

 _He wants to stay_ , the deepest, and most insecure part of Billy had whispered, the part that he kept locked down inside his chest like a cage. _He wants to stay but doesn’t know how to tell you._

Billy didn’t want to believe it. Despite a few nice moments, Goodnight was as tense and agitated here as Billy had ever seen him. But then why did Goody keep finding new people to visit, new errands to complete?

 

 _Because you keep telling him to_ , the more sensible part of Billy whispered, but he pushed the thought down, feeling slightly uncomfortable about it. It was bad enough to think he didn’t understand Goody. It was worse to think he didn’t understand himself.

 

But finally one day, barely an hour after he’d gone out, Goodnight came crashing back in, flinging open the door of the library, startling the hell out of Billy who’d been lying there in a robe he’d found, not having bothered to get dressed if he was just going to spend the whole day inside.

 

“I’ve fucking had it with these people,” he fumed pacing over to where Billy was reading. He grabbed Billy’s book and flung it down. “Get dressed, I’m getting the horses ready. We’re going out.”

 

 _Yes_ , Billy had silently rejoiced, Goodnight’s words sealing up the place in Billy’s chest where all of his doubts had been starting to bleed out.

 

Within half an hour they were blazing a trail out of town and into the countryside, the sky dotted with puffy clouds and as bright blue as a painting, with nothing but fields ahead of them and Baton Rouge at their backs.

 

Billy squinted against the sun. He hadn’t realized it, but he hadn’t been outside in days. And for the first time all week he let himself breathe in wind, sunshine, and the scent of clover, geraniums and honeysuckle, better than any perfume. Hell, even his horse smelled nice.

 

The rode for another two hours, galloping easily over the fields, finally pulling their horses into a walk as they hit a long dirt road, almost red with clay.

 

Billy glanced over at Goodnight whose face was serene as their horses walked under the wide limbs of tree branches, heavy with Spanish moss, some of it so long it almost tickled the brims of their hats.

 

“Where are we?” Billy finally asked, although he was getting an idea.

 

“My cousins’ old place,” Goodnight said. “No longer in use, but hell if the land still isn’t some of the nicest I’ve seen. Even all grown over like this. Should be just over this next hill, yes, look…”

 

They pulled their horses to a stop as they reached the top of the hill, and Billy felt his breath catch.

 

“Oh,” was all he could say to the scene before him. And even without any nostalgic ties to this place, he could see why anyone would feel a pull at the long dip in the red dirt road that cut through fields and fields of green, all of them smattered with wildflowers like someone had flung a paintbrush at them. The acres of green were surrounded by a lush perimeter of darker trees that stretched widely, and just past them, Billy could make out the sparkling blue of the Mississippi. Billy felt something inside of him become swept away the longer he looked. He took in the scene but paused a bit when he made out the far-off plantation house with its crumbled columns. It had once been white but was now a charred shell.

 

“Yanks,” Goodnight said quietly. He’d been watching Billy’s reaction to everything. “Don’t know when they did it but at least the family wasn’t inside, unlike some of the other houses. My folks had already moved into town at that point of the war, not even caring about the hundreds of dollars worth of cotton still pushing up through the fields. Wasn’t like they had a way to sell it, not with all the ports being blocked.”

 

He flicked his reins and Billy followed him, not down the road but off to the side, through a broken section of wooden fence. Goodnight led them over a hill, still on the property but veering away from the house. He paused so that Billy’s horse could become level with his and they could ride side by side. And as they picked up again, Goodnight looked back at the house once more and then sighed as he turned away.

 

“The web of our life is of a mingled yarn, good and ill together,” Goodnight said softly.

 

“What’s that from?” Billy asked him, glancing at Goody who blinked suddenly in realization.

 

“All’s Well that Ends Well, actually,” he said, turning to look at Billy thoughtfully.

 

Billy reached out into the space between their horses and Goody’s hand met his, mingling their fingers together briefly. Billy gave his hand a squeeze before letting go, and they steered their horses down a footpath and into a meadow.

 

They parked their horses under a tree and hopped down, Billy throwing down a blanket, and Goody started unpacking his saddlebags. He took out grapes, bakery bread, softer cheese than they normally had on the road, and a bottle of strawberry wine that he held up at Billy, waggling his eyebrows a little.

 

“How the hell did that not break while you were riding?” Billy said with a snort.

 

“By virtue of my noble steed’s floating gait, the softest hills in all the land, and my own natural inborn grace,” Goodnight said majestically. “That, and the towel I wrapped it in.”

 

And then he tossed the bottle at Billy who swore and just managed to catch it, glaring at Goodnight who snickered at him. But Billy couldn’t even pretend to be annoyed. Goodnight looked more like himself than he had all week.

 

They spread out on the blanket, letting the horses wander as they ate, the meadow breeze wrapping around them, carrying with it the scent of irises and bellflowers. Eventually they pulled the blanket out from under the shade of the tree and were lying in the sun, Billy’s head on Goodnight’s stomach, Goodnight’s fingers running through his hair. And if Goodnight seemed more at ease than he had for the past week, well, Billy felt the same way too.

 

“I can see why you liked it here,” he said, looking up at the clouds sailing overhead like ships through the blue, his head rising and dipping slightly with Goodnight’s gentle breathing.

 

“Yeah,” Goodnight answered. Billy couldn’t see his smile but he could hear it. “It was something. But I’m not saying it should have stayed the same.” He paused. “Memories of childhood are worth something, but not as much as people’s lives.”

Goodnight lay there quietly and Billy could tell he was thinking. Finally Goody brushed his fingers over Billy’s forehead as he opened his mouth:

 

“It’s just strange to think about sometimes,” he said quietly. “I’ve known so many people who were slaves. Considered myself close with a few. They’re all in my memories but…none of them chose to be there.”

 

They lay in silence for a while, and finally Billy turned his head on Goodnight’s stomach to look at him.

 

“And your old nanny?” he asked, still unable to pronounce Serafine’s name comfortably. “Was she a slave?”

 

“Yeah,” Goodnight said simply.

 

“So…” Billy didn’t understand.

 

“Why does she still work for my family?” Goodnight guessed and Billy nodded. “You know, there were a lot of former slaves who did stay on with their families. Reconstruction might have meant emancipation, but for a lot of the slaves, emancipation meant not knowing where their next meal was coming from.”

 

“But…they could have been free,” Billy said, trying to wrap his head around this lifestyle and feeling frustrated that he couldn’t.

 

“I know,” Goodnight said. “But a lot of ‘em were born into slavery. It was the only life they’d ever known, such as it was. And a lot of the older slaves wouldn’t even hear of taking their freedom. They’d holler ‘free issue’ at the folks who left their families, and it wasn’t a compliment. They thought it was disloyal. This was the life they knew and they’d see it out.”

 

Billy was silent and Goodnight shrugged beneath him.

 

“They had their pride,” Goodnight said.

 

“I had my pride,” Billy said, leaning up to look at Goodnight seriously. It was pride that had caused Billy to mouth off to his first master, finally having snapped after two years of ‘working’ there. It was pride that had gotten Billy whipped with a cane right there in the kitchen, the strokes raining down over his back. It was pride that had gotten Billy up off the kitchen floor and caused him to reach for the knife on the table and jam it into his master’s neck. And it was pride that had Billy staring right into his master’s eyes until the last flickers of the man’s miserable life had slipped away.

 

“I know you did,” Goodnight said quietly, looking back at him. Billy had told him that story precisely once, about five months after they’d started riding together. They hadn’t realized yet how much they wanted each other, but Billy had already known he liked the man very much, considered him a friend. And Billy had never judged the man’s former ties to slavery: Goodnight couldn’t help being born into that tradition any more than Billy could help being born Korean.

 

But when Goodnight had once mentioned slavery in a way that was perhaps a shade too offhand for Billy, Billy had told him the story of the first master he’d killed. And about running away, only to be snatched up by a second master whom he’d killed as well. And then how Billy had decided that rather than running _away_ from men who made it a point to collect his people for indentured servitude, Billy would run towards them instead. With a knife.

 

Billy hadn’t told him the actual details of his treatment in those houses: how he’d been sold, how he’d been worked, how he’d been looked at as less than nothing…he couldn’t bring himself to. Couldn’t bear for Goody to imagine him like that.

 

But he’d told Goody the time in his life he’d spent finding these men, killing them, and Goodnight had listened. He was as focused a listener as a talker when he wanted to be. And when Billy had finished, Goody had offered Billy a low apology that Billy didn’t need but appreciated. Because Billy knew he wasn’t telling Goodnight this as a warning or intimidation tactic. If he’d wanted to intimidate Goody he wouldn’t have told him about one of the most personal periods in his life to do it. He’d told him because he trusted Goodnight. As much as Billy had ever trusted anyone. And he wanted Goodnight to know that.

 

Goodnight hadn’t let that trust down once, and he didn’t now as he looked at Billy without a word, knowing the next gesture wasn’t his to make, waiting for Billy to make it instead. Which Billy did by way of sighing and reaching out to stroke the man’s jaw, his fingers lingering over Goodnight’s lips. Goodnight kissed the pads of Billy’s fingertips before lacing their hands together, and they settled back into their original position, this time with their hands clasped.

 

“Anyways,” Goodnight said after a little while. “To answer the question you’re not asking: no. Serafine’s not a slave now. After emancipation Susanna insisted that any slaves in the house be given a salary if they wanted to stay. Gerald wasn’t happy about it,” Goody added a bit dryly. “But Susanna insisted they had to move with the times if they wanted to move forward at all.”

 

“Okay, this Gerald…” Billy finally said. Anytime Goodnight’s brother-in-law had come up in conversation, Goody had always reacted with a mixture of tension and animosity. “Do I have to kill him or something?”

 

To Billy’s surprise, Goody just laughed. “Nah, I mean he’s not evil or anything. We’ve just always disliked each other profusely.”

 

Goodnight paused thoughtfully.

 

“Probably because I shot him.”

 

“You _what_?” Billy asked incredulously, rolling over so he could lean on Goodnight’s stomach face-up, arms folded over Goodnight’s chest.

 

Goodnight smiled. “I was ten.”

 

“Oh,” Billy said. “By accident?”

 

Goodnight cocked his head, listening to the rattling of a woodpecker, for all appearances absorbed in it.

 

“ _Goody_.”

 

Goodnight laughed again. “He and Sue had just gotten engaged. She was eighteen at the time and we were at this very house for her engagement party. Gerald was there with his friends, all of them in their twenties and blustering around like they owned the place. They were drinking and getting a little boisterous so my parents made my brothers and the rest of the boy cousins take them outside and show them around. So naturally I tagged along,” Goodnight said with a cheery grin.

 

“Naturally,” Billy said. He noticed Goody had mentioned his older brothers, something he absolutely never did. But if Goody hadn’t noticed, Billy sure as hell wasn’t about to point it out.

 

“Anyways they started setting up some targets on a fence in one of the meadows. Not too far from here actually,” Goodnight said leaning up a little, looking around the fields. “They all had their rifles with them and were taking shots, making the targets smaller and smaller. Looked like grand old fun, and as the youngest I was desperate to join in.”

 

Billy smiled a little, able to picture it well.

 

“My brothers tried to say no, I was too young, they’d tell Ma and Pa and I’d be in for a whipping, and did I want to ruin Sue’s party? But then Gerald came swaggering over, tossing me his rifle saying, ‘Go on, give the brat a chance. Maybe this’ll turn him into a man instead of a sissy, book-reading, sodomite in the making’.”

 

Billy looked at Goodnight in disbelief.

 

“You were _ten,_ ” he said, just to confirm it.

 

“Charming fellow,” Goodnight said mildly. “So he tosses me the gun and walks over to set up a target on the fence. And me, being a smart-mouthed little devil told him to go ahead and make it smaller and not give me a target the same size as his head.”

 

“Well all his friends laughed and laughed, and Gerald doesn’t like that, not one bit. So he goes all red and says ‘Oh you think you’re funny, do you? Well I don’t care if you’re Susanna’s favourite, this is what I think of _you_.’ And standing there by the fence he spins around, sticks out his hand, and points his middle finger at me.”

 

Goodnight paused.

 

“And?” Billy asked.

 

“And I shot his finger clean off,” Goodnight said with a shrug.

 

Billy stared at Goodnight for a beat. Goodnight’s lips were twitching. And then Billy burst out laughing and Goodnight joined in, his stomach quaking underneath Billy.

 

Billy drew in a breath and looked up at Goodnight for confirmation that he was telling the truth. And when he met Goodnight’s eyes which were sparkling at him, mischievous but utterly sincere, Billy dissolved into laughter all over again.

 

“Holy shit,” Billy managed to get out, taking in a gasping breath. “Had you ever shot a gun before?”

 

“No,” Goodnight said as he looked at Billy, and Billy could practically feel the man’s laughter bubbling up in him. “Beginner’s luck.”

 

That just set them off again and they fell back against the blanket, their laughter startling a run of sparrows out of the tree near them, flying out into the sky, twittering their indignation at being disturbed.

 

Finally when they’d gotten themselves under control, Goodnight lay back on the blanket again and Billy settled back onto his chest.

 

“Then what?” he asked, still grinning a little.

 

“Well we bring him back to the house, bleeding and cursing up a storm, and believe it or not, who gets in trouble for Gerald’s idea? Gerald. He tried to point the finger at me – not the one he had wrapped in a handkerchief – but I insisted it was an accident. Turns out all the grownups were just furious they’d been shooting drunk in the first place, saying someone could have gotten killed. That and I think that Ed might have had a word with our Daddy. Something about Gerald implying that I’d grow up unable to shoot and liking it up the ass.”

 

Goodnight grinned. “And whaddaya know, turns out he was half right about something.”

 

Billy snorted. “And what about now?”

 

“Well we steered pretty clear of each other after that. Or as clear as we could, being relations by marriage and all. You know we even got to a point where we were getting pretty civil with each other. But then they declared war and everyone was signing up and Gerald couldn’t go on account of being short one finger,” Goodnight said with a snort. “So all that resentment flared right back up again.”

 

“I can’t believe your sister married him,” Billy said, shaking his head, a bit confused. He hadn’t gotten to know Susanna _that_ well, but he could tell she and Goody were cut from the same cloth in some ways. As far as Billy was concerned, Goodnight was a prince in every sense of the word, whether the man could see it in himself or not. And his older sister seemed to have the same strain of that genuine nobility, the kind that wasn’t dependent on birth. Not the sort of woman who’d marry anything less.

 

“Well,” Goodnight said with a frown. “To be honest I’ve never been quite sure how much say she had in the matter. His family was rich, our family was rich, our parents knew each other, and even if they didn’t _make_ her marry him I’m pretty sure it was strongly ‘encouraged’.”

 

“But,” Goodnight continued. “She was always a practical gal. And I’m sure she decided that if she couldn’t love her husband then she would have a bunch of kids and love the hell out of them instead. And she does love those kids, I tell you.”

 

“And you,” Billy said quietly, fingering the cloth of Goodnight’s vest. Goodnight placed his hand over Billy’s and gave it a squeeze.

 

“Well,” Goodnight said. “As far as I’m concerned there aren’t nearly enough Susannas in the world, but there are far too many Geralds. And this whole goddamn town is full of them. God, I’d forgotten how much I hate the people here,” Goodnight said, leaning his head back.

 

Billy looked at him, his eyebrows bunched together. He hauled Goodnight back up until they were sitting face to face.

 

“Then what the hell are we still doing here?” he burst out.

 

“I told you,” Goody said surprised. “I made an order but they’re still finishing it. Sorry, Bill, I didn’t think it would take so long but trust me, the second it comes through I plan on dragging us both out of here.”

 

His eyes were completely honest and Billy started to feel a flicker of relief. For all that Goody was a good actor he was a terrible liar, and Billy saw nothing but truth written in his face.

 

“Goody I…” It was hard to get out, but Billy made himself admit it: “I was starting to think you wanted to stay for good.”

 

“Stay for good?” Goody asked incredulously. “Billy, half the time I spent growing up in that house I was trying to sneak out of it.”

 

“I thought you _liked_ living in it,” Billy said.

 

“I liked my _family_ ,” Goodnight corrected. “But I was always dreaming of running off. Always hated towns.”

 

“But I thought your hometown would be –“

 

“ _Especially_ my hometown, and especially after I got back from the war and saw how full of shit half the people in it really are.”

 

“But you keep going off and visiting them!” Billy exclaimed.

 

Goodnight stared at him with narrowed eyes. “Billy, _you’re_ the one who keeps trying to get me to go out! You keep going on about how I should be ‘connecting with my people’, trying to make me spend all this time with former acquaintances when the only person I’ve been trying to spend time with here is _you_!”

 

Billy looked down at the blanket. Goodnight had said nothing that wasn’t true.

 

“Billy,” Goody said, gently. And Billy could barely look into the man’s eyes they were so keen. “Are you by any chance trying to make me sure I’m not missing out on anything back home? By being with you? Is that it?”

 

And Billy swallowed. Because Goody – sharpshooter that he was – had landed square on the mark, even before Billy had.

 

“Because I’m sure,” Goodnight said quietly, drawing Billy’s chin up.

 

Billy looked back at him, for some hint that the man was humoring him, trying to appease him, but there were those eyes again, soft for all that they were piercing, and completely genuine.

 

“Billy I know I’ve got my head in the clouds a lot of the time,” Goodnight said softly as he looked into Billy’s eyes. “I know I’m unsure about a lot of things, but you’ve _never_ been one of them.”

 

He rubbed his thumb across Billy’s chin, and Billy saw a flash of feeling shoot across his face.

 

“Sometimes I think you’re the only real thing that’s ever happened to me.”

 

Billy tentatively reached up to brush Goody’s neck, his fingers lingering over the man’s pulse, letting it ground him.

 

And then Goody drew Billy’s face towards him and looked at him questioningly. And when Billy parted his lips Goodnight leaned in and kissed him softly. Billy let out a breath he wasn’t aware he’d been holding, and the relief washed out of him in waves as he kissed Goodnight back.

 

When they drew back Goodnight laced their fingers. “Come on, say it.”

 

Billy shrugged at him, not understanding and Goodnight rolled his eyes. “Fine I’ll say it: I want to go. I want to get out of here and get back to riding with you so badly it’s driving me crazy.”

 

He looked seriously into Billy’s eyes. “There’s just one thing I’m waiting on here but then we can get out town, alright? We’ll go anywhere you want. Hell let’s start cleaning the house and packing up tomorrow, then we don’t have to wait any longer than we have to.”

 

Billy nodded, throat tight, and Goodnight stroked his cheek.

 

“And then we can ride off into as many sunsets as we can possibly squeeze into one lifetime, how about that?” Goodnight asked him.

 

Billy swallowed. “I can live with that.”

 

“I can live with that,” Goodnight mimicked, but with a grin. “Billy, is that your special way of saying you want to stay with me until I’m old and grey?”

 

Billy shook his head, his lip curving. “Why would I when you’re old and grey now?”

 

Goodnight beamed that Billy was showing some signs of his normal cocky self.

 

“Smartass,” he said, lying back on the blanket with a satisfied sigh. Billy followed him down and curled up against him. Goodnight’s hands went right back to playing with his hair, and the warm breeze floated around them, as soft and easy as their breathing.

 

Billy felt Goodnight pause and rub a strand between his fingers.

 

“Do your people ever go grey?” Goodnight asked curiously. But then he was quickly saying: “Wait, don’t tell me.”

 

He continued to run his fingers through Billy’s hair contentedly as they gazed up at the summer sky.

 

“I want to find out for myself.”

 

 

 


	3. Part 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is the last part and thank you guys so much for reading! It means a lot that you were into this continuation and left such lovely feedback, it was so appreciated:) Hope you enjoy the conclusion!

 

 

 

 

A lot of people might have looked at Goodnight with his spiffy clothes, his fancy airs, his fastidiously-maintained goatee, and just assumed that he wouldn’t be of much use on the road. But they couldn’t have been more wrong. Goodnight was as resourceful and capable a travel companion as Billy could have possibly hoped for back when they’d first started riding together. There was no gulley too steep for him ride down, no bed of rock too uncomfortable for him to sleep on, and no river too deep or rushing for him to ford. He’d plunge through the surging water, his rifle aloft in one hand, his horse’s reins in the other as he pressed his hat to his head, gleefully calling behind him for Billy to hurry up, it was fine once you were in all over. He leapt into anything the desert threw at them with a sense of adventure that could only come from someone who’d chosen the life and not been stuck with it, but was nonetheless refreshing to ride with.

 

And besides possessing a healthy amount of ebullience on their rides, Goodnight also had a good deal of practical knowledge as well, probably more than Billy, if Billy was being honest. Goodnight knew an awful lot about desert plants, what colour soil meant they were nearing water, and what ripples to the sky meant they should expect weather. These were all things Billy had learned over time after trial and error and years of riding by himself, but there were gaps in his knowledge. So Billy couldn’t even tease Goody for having gotten most of his survival knowledge out of books, because hell if it hadn’t come in handy on a number of occasions.

 

All in all, Goodnight was a perfectly adept travel companion: he performed camp chores easily and with good humour, and was an extremely competent person to ride with out of doors.

 

But when it came to household chores?

 

“It wasn’t my fault,” Goodnight whined as he looked up at Billy from where he was crouched by the fireplace, his features obscured by a cloud of soot, his hands and arms covered in ashy gunk.

 

“What the hell happened to you?” Billy asked, stopping in his tracks.

 

“I put the vinegar water on like you said –“

 

“Did you sweep out the ashes first?” Billy asked incredulously, looking at the dark watery sludge pooling in the bottom of the fireplace.

 

“I…” Goody looked thoughtfully at the fireplace, his forehead creased. “No?”

 

“Goody,” Billy said, dragging a hand over his face, torn between irritation and an urge to laugh. “Okay it’s fine, go get the dustpan and a pot, we’ll just bail it out.”

 

Goody nodded, standing up to go, trying not to drip on the floor. He turned back to Billy, his soot-covered face looking a bit sheepish.

 

“Where’s the dustpan?”

 

“Next to the _stove_ ,” Billy said, rolling his eyes. Goodnight had grown up here, and yet it was Billy who could best predict where all the cleaning equipment would be kept. But then again why would Goody know? The youngest son of a rich family wasn’t likely to be acquainted with household chores, and Billy shouldn’t judge. It’s not like Billy had chosen to be so proficient at household duties. If Billy hadn’t been sold into indentured servitude he might have ended up just like Goodnight: someone who tried to scrub out a fireplace before sweeping all the soot out of it first.

 

Well…

 

Billy watched the steady drip of ashy muck running down the walls of the fireplace and hoped he had a _little_ more good sense than that.

 

They’d barely been in the house for two weeks, and yet had accumulated a lot more mess than they’d thought. It was taking them a few days to clean everything, and initially Billy hadn’t been looking forward to all the household duties they’d have to perform. He was sure that a return to fluffing pillows, scrubbing floors on his hands and knees, and carrying buckets of water from the well out back would provoke memories of his former life and cause him to tense up. But surprisingly Billy was actually somewhat enjoying himself and it was for three reasons. The first was that Goodnight was with him constantly now, both of them having dropped the pretense that Goodnight wanted to go around and visit Southern society. The second was that Goodnight was unintentionally hilarious while they were cleaning, so eager to be helpful and so completely useless that it might have made some chores twice as long, but they became twice as entertaining. And if Billy ever suspected that Goodnight was sometimes playing up his own ineptitude just to amuse Billy and keep him distracted…well, it was working.

 

And the third reason Billy didn’t mind doing so much housework again? All this cleaning meant that they were _leaving_.

 

Billy might have already packed his saddlebags in anticipation. He’d included Goody’s old copy of The Swiss Family Robinson because he wasn’t done, and just for the heck of it he threw in Robinson Crusoe as well. That one was a pain to read but it sounded better in Goody’s pleasing voice. Maybe Billy could get Goody to read it out loud again when they were on the road.

 

And then finally, one sunny morning a few days after they’d started their cleaning, everything was _done_. Goodnight said the package he was expecting should be arriving that very day, and once it got there they could go, back on the road, back to their real lives.

 

They were so elated at having finished scrubbing the house from top to bottom that they looked at each with the same sly grin, and were then dragging each other up the stairs towards the bedrooms. And before Billy knew it he was lying flat on his back with his hands desperately gripping the sheets, three slick fingers deep inside of him and Goody steadily working in a fourth.

 

“Oh come on, _Goody_ ,” Billy moaned, throwing his head back, another static jolt rocketing through his spine at the way Goodnight was twisting his fingers inside of him, his breath ghosting over Billy’s cock.

 

“Something you wanted, Bill?” Goodnight asked, taking a nip of Billy’s hipbone before laving his tongue down its sweat-glistened length.

 

“I…I…god _dammit_ , Goody,” Billy gritted out, his chest rising and falling hard.

 

“What’s that now?” Goodnight said mildly, dragging his tongue next to where Billy’s flushed cock was lying against stomach. He traced slick, wet patterns over the muscles of Billy’s lower stomach, his pelvic bones, down to his inner thighs, everywhere _but_ Billy’s untouched cock.

 

“Come on – just – _fuck_ ,” Billy gasped as Goodnight curled his fingers and pressed his lips to Billy’s perineum, teasing the area with the lightest flick of his tongue, his beard scratching the skin a little, an overwhelming contrast of sensations.

 

Goody lifted his head, and Billy couldn’t take the sudden coolness over where Goody had been slowly tormenting him.

 

“You know there’s something I’ve been wondering,” Goodnight said thoughtfully, stilling his fingers.

 

Billy lifted his head, gasping for breath, looking at Goody in disbelief.

 

“Why do you always swear in English?” Goodnight asked him with genuine curiosity, but with no small amount of mischief glimmering in his eyes.

 

“ _What_?” Billy said in a strangled voice, trying to lift his hips into Goody’s fingers, which were being resolutely stationary inside of him.

 

“I’ve always wondered, I just keep forgetting to ask,” Goodnight said, bending back down to kiss Billy’s inner thigh open-mouthed.

 

“And you remember _now_?” Billy asked weakly. “Oh come on, Goody, just…just…”

 

“Tell me first,” Goodnight said mildly, and was then sharply biting down on the soft skin of Billy’s thigh.

 

“ _Jesus_. I – fine. I don’t know any Korean swears,” Billy said gasping, his fingers twisting weakly in the sheets as he tried to angle his hips towards Goody’s face.

 

“You don’t?” Goodnight asked surprised, licking a trail back up Billy’s pelvic region, bypassing his cock entirely.

 

“I left when I was ten,” Billy moaned. “Wasn’t old enough to swear.”

 

Goodnight looked up at him between his legs, and when Billy met his eyes they were full of delight.

 

And then Goodnight was dropping his head to Billy’s hips, his freckled shoulders shaking with laughter.

 

“Christ, it’s not that funny,” Billy said, letting his head fall back to the sheets again as he took in rapid breaths.

 

“On the contrary, darling, it’s hysterical,” Goodnight said into Billy’s stomach. “Now I believe there was something you wanted?”

 

“God, just…your _mouth_ , Goody, _please_ ,” Billy pleaded desperately.

 

“There’s the magic word,” Goodnight murmured, and with no further ado he was slipping his mouth over the head of Billy’s cock and sinking his lips down Billy’s entire length, enveloping it with warmth, his fingers resuming their slow strokes inside of Billy.

 

Billy’s hands flew up to his face and he bit down on his lower lip, his hips thrusting involuntarily up into the warm, wet, blissful pressure of Goodnight’s mouth. But rather than withdraw, Goody just pushed his head down further, taking Billy in even deeper.

 

“Fuck fuck fuck _fuck_ –“

 

A sudden vibration thrummed through Billy’s cock and he realized it was Goody, that bastard, laughing at his swearing again.

 

Goody pulled his lips off the length of Billy’s cock with a wet popping sound.

 

“Sorry, sorry” he said with a laugh, running a hand up Billy’s stomach, his shoulders still shaking. “My God I love you so much.“

 

Billy took in a sharp breath. Even though he already knew that, he suddenly realized that this was the first time either of them had said that out _loud_. And before he could wonder if Goody had even noticed, Goody’s tongue was circling the head of Billy’s cock again, he was rubbing his lips up and down its straining length, tongue flicking out and darting against the skin, his fingers still pumping inside of Billy, his tongue teasing him, and then he was taking Billy back into his mouth again and sucking as hard as he could.

 

“Goody…” Billy breathed, thighs trembling, lowering his arm to slide his fingers gently into Goodnight’s hair. He felt Goody moan around his cock as he bobbed his head, his tongue making mouthwatering circles around the shaft, sucking Billy’s cock with so much focus it was like there was nothing he’d rather be doing.

 

“Oh God, Goody, I’m gonna –“ Billy gasped out.

 

Goody made a sound of want, and sunk his mouth so far down Billy’s cock that his nose was nuzzling Billy’s stomach and he crooked his fingers _hard_.

 

“ _God,_ ” Billy cried out. And then he was arching his back, his hands tightening in Goody’s hair, and he was coming in hard hot pulses, spilling down Goody’s throat.

 

Goody kept working him through it, bobbing his head and swallowing everything down, his mouth a soothing heat around Billy’s cock as Billy shuddered through the shocks.

 

Eventually he tugged at Goody’s hair when the sensation became too overwhelming, and Goody lifted his head, Billy’s softening cock slipping from his mouth. He licked his swollen lips and stared at Billy, his eyes dark with want.

 

“Bill…” he said hoarsely, sounding absolutely wrecked.

 

“Come on,” Billy said weakly, giving Goody’s arm a tug so he could climb over him and take him. But when Goody crawled back up the length of Billy’s body he didn’t stop when their hips were aligned, but kept going until he was straddling Billy’s chest, almost at his neck. He moaned at the sight of Billy’s lips, which were flushed and red from where Billy had been biting them. Goody reached down and took his cock in hand, painting Billy’s lips a few times with the glistening tip.

 

“Mind warming me up first?” he rasped out, and when Billy moaned his agreement, Goody pushed the tip of his cock between Billy’s lips and was sliding it over his tongue and deep into Billy’s mouth.

 

Billy tilted his head and Goody slid in again, his cock thick and filling Billy’s mouth entirely. Billy reached for Goodnight’s ass and pulled him insistently, urging Goodnight to take him deeper, faster. Goody groaned and gripped the headboard, thrusting into Billy’s mouth in hard jerks, Billy’s fingers digging into him as he pumped desperately. Billy felt sparks going off behind his eyes with every one of Goody’s strokes.

 

Goody let go of the headboard with one hand, reaching down to Billy’s face. Billy thought for a second he was going to wind his fingers through Billy’s hair. But Goody just went to stroke Billy’s face, fingers trembling as he felt the outline of himself through Billy’s cheek, and was then moving his hand up to brush the lines by Billy’s eyes and caress the side of his face.

 

“Oh sweetheart,” he breathed, his voice thick with emotion, sounding more tender than someone that deep in Billy’s throat had a right to be.

 

And then he was pulling out of Billy’s mouth, both of them letting out a gasp. Goody’s cock was wet and shining as he moved back down Billy’s body to line himself up to where Billy was already stretched and slick. And lifting Billy’s legs around him, he slid into Billy with one deep stroke, and Billy felt himself filled entirely.

 

“Oh my lord,” Goody breathed out, his arm muscles straining where he was braced over Billy. He began thrusting into Billy, every stroke making Billy see stars. Billy wrapped his arms around Goody the way he knew Goody liked. He liked to feel Billy all around him, enveloping him, holding him close...

 

Goodnight continued to drive into him, every snap of his hips sending a jolt of heat searing through Billy’s groin, even though Billy was completely spent. His hands stroked every inch of Billy’s body he could reach and Billy felt overwhelmed. He was still sensitive and there was so much stimulation, whether it was the heavy slide inside of him as Goodnight continued to thrust, or the way Goody’s hands were running over him almost reverently, his feather-soft touch at odds with the way his hips pumped desperately as he took Billy apart even _more_ , starting to come apart at the seams himself.

 

“Billy, Billy,” he moaned, dropping his forehead to Billy’s, his hair damp, his lips parted, his eyes meeting Billy’s. And his gaze was so intense that Billy wanted to look away but found he _couldn’t_ , not when Goody’s eyes were pinning him like that. And so Billy lifted his hands, realized with a start that they were shaking, _his_ hands, and placed them on either side of the man’s face. He felt a current shoot through his chest that was both painful and soothing because he _loved_ Goodnight so much, he really did. There was no one else he’d ever let in this close, and not just physically. It was exhilarating and comforting to give himself over to Goody in every way, but sometimes it terrified him as well.

 

“Goody, I –“ he whispered.

 

“Yeah,” Goody said in a choked voice, his thrusts speeding up, stroking Billy’s cheek and then ducking his head to kiss him.

 

And when Billy parted his lips to slide his tongue against Goody’s, he felt every muscle in Goody’s body coil up. And then Goodnight was groaning into Billy’s mouth and Billy felt Goody’s release spilling into him over and over.

 

He rubbed Goody’s back soothingly, raising his hips to let Goody thrust weakly into him a few more times.

 

“That’s it,” he said, feeling a few more pulses as Goody spent himself entirely.

 

“Billy…” Goodnight said faintly as he eased himself down on top of Billy, plastering himself to Billy’s chest, his head over Billy’s heart, and there was that painful heat in Billy’s chest again.

 

“Right here,” Billy murmured, dragging his fingers through Goody’s hair, pressing a kiss to the man’s temple as Goody’s heart started to slow.

 

Eventually Goody worked himself back out of Billy and settled back down on top of him, pressing kisses against Billy’s sweat-dampened chest, fingers tracing his ribs. Billy continued to run his hands through Goodnight’s hair which was in total disarray. Billy could only imagine how his own looked.

 

Probably pretty ridiculous, judging by the curve of Goody’s lips when he finally propped up his chin on Billy chest, taking him in.

 

“We are an absolute mess right now, darling,” he said, still breathing a little shallowly.

 

Billy hummed in agreement. “You know what else is a mess?”

 

When Goody looked at him quizzically, Billy nodded beneath them to the stained, sweaty, rumpled state the bed was in.

 

“The sheets.”

 

Goody still looked confused and Billy raised an eyebrow at him.

 

“We have to wash them again, Goody.”

 

Goody blinked at him. And when it finally clicked he groaned and rolled onto his back while pressing a pillow into his face, and Billy just laughed at him.

 

 

*

 

 

Outside in the backyard, clean and changed, they scrubbed sheets over a pair of washboards that were propped up in a large wooden tub. They sat on stools while they washed them, their shirtsleeves pushed up, buckets of rinse water at their feet.

 

“So where do you want to go next?” Goody asked, dragging a sheet over the washboard, his hands covered in sudsy water.

 

Billy shrugged, flicking a loose strand of hair away from his face that had fallen out of his hairpin. “I don’t mind.”

 

“Billy,” Goodnight said, his voice a joking warning. “You don’t _have_ to succumb to my every whim, you know. You’re allowed to pick the next place.”

 

Billy had no grand designs. Goody was the one with imagination and Billy was happy to follow it anywhere it led them. Which reminded him…

 

“You were saying something about New Orleans?” Billy asked. “Something about licking sugar off my fingers?”

 

Goodnight laughed remembering. “An _excellent_ idea.”

 

Billy suddenly paused. “Is New Orleans like this town?” he asked as casually as he could.

 

“Better,” Goodnight said automatically. But then he was looking up at Billy at bit thoughtfully. “But you know what…forget towns. I think you’d enjoy the bayous outside of it more.”

 

“What’s a bayou?” Billy asked, and Goodnight’s eyes lit up.

 

“Let me tell you about bayous, my friend…”

 

And then Goody was off, his voice painting pictures of muggy air and murky waters where green algae floated thick as a carpet…of forests that were old as the beginning of time with thick, lush trees, whose creepers threatened a chokehold of green at every turn…of air so heavy you could cut it with a knife, the perfume of hibiscuses and water lilies pouring out of the cracks…the way the forests seemed to almost float on the water, like they might drift away in the middle of the night and end up in a new river by morning…

 

Billy listened to it all with a smile as he scrubbed. But then he was lifting his head up.

 

“Can we go to the ocean?” Billy interrupted.

 

Goody looked up at him in surprise and was then breaking out into a huge crooked grin. Whether it was at the suggestion itself or the fact that Billy was finally _making_ a suggestion, Billy couldn’t really say. But Billy just shrugged and continued scrubbing.

 

“I’ve always wanted to go to the ocean,” Goody said, pausing his scrubbing of the sheets.

 

“No offense to the Mississippi,” Billy said. “But the ocean has waves.”

 

“Waves…” Goodnight repeated, the tiniest trace of longing in his voice.

 

“Well then,” Billy said, smiling at him. “How about it?”

 

Goody smiled back. “Wherever you go, I go.”

 

Billy bit back a grin as he looked into the large basin and kept scrubbing, because hearing Goodnight say it, and with his voice still ringing in Billy’s ears that Goody loved him, and the taste of departure on Billy’s tongue…Billy could well believe it.

 

“And besides,” Billy added, dropping his voice, lips quirking a little. “Wouldn’t you like to lick salt water off my shoulders?”

 

Goodnight made a strangled sound, his hands slipping off the washboard.

 

“Christ you know how to paint a picture.”

 

Billy just snorted because no he did not, that was Goodnight’s area. He continued scrubbing while Goody let go of his own sheet to roll his shoulders in circles, wincing a little. Billy pulled out the sheet he was working on, easily wound it up into a coil where he wrung it out, and whipped it back against the washboard with a snap.

 

“You make that look so easy,” Goody said as he resumed rubbing his own sheet against the washboard, flexing his sore wrists.

 

“Second house I worked in,” Billy said, and then realized how easily he’d just discussed a detail of his servitude with someone. He shrugged, realizing he’d said it easily because he could say anything easily with Goody. “The master was pretty particular about sheets.”

 

“Well I can see why you killed him,” Goodnight muttered while he scrubbed.

 

And then his head was flying up as he looked at Billy in horror.

 

“Oh God, Billy I –“

 

Billy was shaking.

 

“Billy I’m _so_ sorry, Jesus, I –“

 

Billy fell off his stool, clutching his stomach, laughing harder than he’d ever laughed in his life.

 

“Billy?” Goodnight asked, his face a twisted blend of being appalled at himself and unsure about Billy.

 

“Oh my god,” Billy gasped out. He looked up at Goody’s face and convulsed in laughter again.

 

Goody looked marginally more relaxed and he started to grin uncertainly at Billy who was laughing hard enough to wake the dead.

 

“You son of a bitch,” Billy wheezed out. Goody had always been able to make him laugh, but he _never_ would have imagined that someone, even Goody, could ever make him laugh about _that_.

 

And yet there was Billy, practically rolling on the ground, laughing so hard his stomach actually _hurt_.

 

He reached out to grab the leg of Goody’s stool, yanking it out from underneath him. Goody yelped, and as he fell his shoulder hit the edge of the tub and it tipped over, drenching him with sudsy water.

 

“You –” he gasped out, absolutely soaked.

 

Billy practically howled with laughter at him because oh god, he’d just wanted to trip Goody but this was even better than he could have hoped for. All he could do was lift a hand to point weakly at Goody before collapsing in on himself again.

 

“Oh you think that’s funny do you?” Goodnight sputtered while wiping water out of his eyes, but he was starting to laugh too. “Alright then, here,” he said reaching for one of their buckets of rinse water and was launching its contents into Billy’s face.

 

The blast of cold water did nothing to douse Billy’s mirth. He just spat out a mouthful of water with a laugh and grabbed one of Goodnight’s ankles, trying to haul him towards him while Goodnight struggled. But Billy just climbed on top of him, shoving one of the soaking sheets into Goody’s face.

 

“Geroff!” Goody said muffled, hands scrabbling at the sheet. He managed to wrench it away and Billy had just enough time to see Goody’s grin before Goody was hooking his ankle around Billy’s and flipping them.

 

They continued to wrestle with each other, laughing and hollering insults while they struggled, trying to shove the other’s shoulders into the ground to make them admit defeat. They were being so loud they didn’t even hear the backdoor of the house open, but they sure as shit heard the cocking of a gun and their heads snapped up.

 

“Get up,” a deep voice was saying.

 

They shot to their feet, Billy trying to get a look at who was there, but Goody was shoving Billy behind him with more force than he’d shown in their wrestling, placing his body between Billy and whoever was holding a gun on them.

 

“What the _hell_?” Goodnight shouted sounding shocked.

 

“Goodnight?” the deep voice asked incredulously.

 

“Put the gun down, Gerald!” Goody was yelling. “What the hell’s the matter with you?”

 

“Didn’t even recognize you,” the man said.

 

“What are you doing back here?” Goodnight asked.

 

“Came back to get extra clothes for the kids,” Goody’s brother-in-law said. “They’re turning out to be just as spoiled as you.”

 

When Goodnight’s sister and Billy called Goodnight spoiled it was done with affection, but when this man did it there was nothing but contempt.

 

Billy looked out over Goody’s shoulder to see a tall man with thick brown hair and cold grey eyes, slowly lowering a rifle.

 

“Oh,” he drawled in his rich, Southern accent, spying Billy’s face. “You must be ‘Mister Rocks’,” he said, the title thick with sarcasm.

 

“What the _hell_ , Gerald!” Goodnight said, his fists clenched. “So you did know I was staying here with someone?”

 

“Yeah Sue mentioned it,” Gerald said lowering the rifle all the way, revealing elegant clothes. Just below the sleeve of his jacket Billy could see a stump where his middle finger used to be. “Slipped my mind.”

 

“Jesus Christ,” Goodnight spat out. “So you just go ahead and point rifles at people every time something slips your mind now?”

 

He was looking at Gerald with more disgust than Billy was used to seeing in his face, and Billy knew part of it was Goody trying to cover the panic he always felt at any unexpected gun.

 

“Well excuse me, I haven’t seen you in five years, I come home and there’s two people fighting in my backyard looking like a couple of tramps…I was acting on instinct.”

 

“Well as usual, Gerald, your instincts are absolutely shit,” Goodnight hissed, “Billy come on, we’ve stayed here long enough.”

 

“Now just a moment, I want a word with you,” Gerald said, pointing forcefully at Goodnight who narrowed his eyes. Billy must have made some sort of movement towards Goody, because Gerald’s cold eyes flicked towards him.

 

“This doesn’t concern you, boy!” he barked out.

 

“If you call him that one more time I will shoot off more than just your finger,” Goodnight snarled, almost white-lipped with rage, and Gerald’s face flushed unpleasantly.

 

“Then get your ass inside,” Gerald snapped, pointing at the door leading to the kitchen, his rifle hanging loosely by his side.

 

“Sorry about this,” Goodnight muttered to Billy. “It seems I need to have a _word_ with my dear brother-in-law.”

 

He walked towards Gerald, still keeping himself firmly between the man and Billy.

 

Billy didn’t like it, but since stillness was his only defense at the moment, he stood there dripping wet and watched as Goody stalked away and went into the house.

 

 

*

 

 

Billy had been standing on the back stairs leading up to the kitchen door for the better part of ten minutes, listening to the shouting inside. It seemed to be a fight a long time coming. The men were yelling about people and places Billy had never heard of but seemed to be a source of great contention to Goody and his brother-in-law.

 

“…you could never just be like the rest of us, could you, Goodnight? Always superior to everyone else.”

 

“No not ‘everyone else’, Gerald, just you.”

 

“You couldn’t even come back from the war like everybody! Had to come back with some fancy storybook nickname, didn’t you?”

 

“Do _not_ talk about shit you don’t understand,” Billy heard Goodnight say venomously.

 

“Well if I don’t understand what happened up there then whose fault is that?” the man hollered.

 

“Oh my Christ, this is still about your fucking _finger?_ ” Goodnight shouted.

 

“I couldn’t go because _you_ shot it off!”

 

“You got drunk and handed a ten-year-old a gun, Gerald! When are you gonna take some responsibility for _your_ choices? That’s what the rest of us do when we grow up! We have to live with what we’ve done!”

 

“Oh yeah? Well then why didn’t you take the medal they offered you, huh?”

 

Billy felt like he could practically hear Goodnight clenching his fists.

 

“That is different,” Goody said in a low, tight voice.

 

“What’s so different about it?” Billy could hear the sneer in Gerald’s polished voice.

 

“None of your goddamn business.”

 

“Oh it is my business, Goodnight. It’s my business when Connelly himself is coming down to _this_ town to present you with a medal of honor. It’s my business when the people are planning to throw you a party. And it’s my business when I have to deal with what to tell them the morning of the ceremony, when we wake up and find out that you’ve taken off in the middle of the goddamn _night_!”

 

There was a silence and Billy heard Gerald continue to rave.

 

“You just _left_ , Goody! And all we get for four years are rumors of you running around out West! First you’re a plow hand, then you’re a bounty hunter, then you’re popping up in shooting competitions –“

 

“Again, _none_ of your business, Gerald.”

 

“And then when you finally decide to come back here is it to visit your family? No! You just write to Susanna to ask if you can use the house while we’re in Georgia, she says yes because she can never tell you no, and then we have to come back home to hear about you running all over town with some goddamn _Yankee?_ “

 

“He was my _friend_.”

 

“He was a –“

 

There was a crash on the table from someone’s fist, presumably Goody’s.

 

“Gerald, so help me God if you finish that sentence like I think you’re going to –“

 

“And you still haven’t changed! Because here I am, coming back home, and it’s to find you with someone like _him_.”

 

“What the hell is your _point_ , Gerald?”

 

“MY POINT IS YOU CAN’T STOP MAKING ME LOOK LIKE AN IDIOT!”

 

“YOU DO _NOT_ NEED MY HELP FOR THAT.”

 

There was a muffled thump, and Billy would recognize a sound of pain from Goody anywhere. And before he knew his feet were moving he was kicking the back door to the kitchen open, practically flying across the floor, and yanking his hairpin out of his bun.

 

“What the –“

 

Gerald’s words were cut off as Billy slammed him into the wall, his pin against the man’s throat.

 

“Billy?” Goodnight wheezed, getting up off the kitchen floor and rubbing his jaw.

 

“Blink if you can understand me,” Billy hissed, staring into the grey eyes of Goody’s brother-in-law as he held him against the kitchen wall.

 

“You –“

 

“I don’t want to hear your voice,” Billy snarled, giving the man another brutal shove against the wall, the skewered end of his hairpin digging hard against the skin of the man’s throat. “I said blink. Blink!”

 

Gerald blinked rapidly and Billy’s lip curled in disdain.

 

“It is purely out of regard for your wife that I don’t make her a widow right now. Do you understand me?” Billy said in a low voice. Gerald blinked.

 

“I won’t kill you now. But if you ever lay a hand on that man again? I will kill you. I will watch the blood drain from you and I will _like_ it,” Billy whispered. “Are you following me?”

 

Gerald blinked and nodded on reflex. And when he did the point of Billy’s hairpin dragged against his throat creating a sharp, stinging red line. Billy was darkly satisfied when he saw it.

 

“Consider that a warm-up,” he said. And then he dragged the hairpin back up the shallow cut, digging it in harder and the cut widened, red beginning to stream down his fingers. He looked at Gerald thoughtfully.

 

“Do you know where the warmest blood is found?”

 

Gerald stared at him, eyes widening.

 

“I asked you a question,” Billy said in a voice so low it was almost a purr. “Do you know? The warmest blood in the human body? It’s not in the heart.”

 

He traced Gerald’s neck idly with the hairpin. “It’s in the throat.”

 

He could smell the man’s urine staining the expensive fabric of his suit and he looked up into the man’s eyes.

 

“And you know what? My knife is feeling _cold_.”

 

He lunged forward with a feinted stabbing motion, and Gerald collapsed to the floor, holding his hands in front of him.

 

“Please,” he whispered shaking.

 

“Get out,” Billy said in a flat voice. “Now.”

 

Gerald scrambled to his feet, stumbling out of the kitchen. A few seconds later Billy heard the front door slam.

 

Billy finally turned to face Goodnight who was staring at Billy with his mouth open. Billy looked down to where he was holding the pin and saw the red trickling down his hands. And all of a sudden he wasn’t Billy Rocks anymore. He was an eighteen-year-old boy with a name nobody could pronounce, standing in the middle of a kitchen with his hands covered in blood, and holding onto a carving knife that he’d just jammed into his master’s throat.

 

Billy dropped the pin and it fell to the kitchen tiles with a pinging sound.

 

“I –“ he whispered, looking at his hands.

 

“Billy?” Goodnight asked tentatively. But when he took a step towards him, Billy’s head snapped up.

 

“Don’t come near me,” he gasped, holding out a red-stained hand to stop Goodnight.

 

Goodnight stopped, holding out his hands placatingly. “Billy it’s alright.”

 

“No, no it’s not alright,” Billy said, looking around the kitchen wildly, _god_ it looked just the same as the last one. “I…I gotta go.”

 

“Okay, alright let’s go,” Goody said soothingly. “Come on now.”

 

“No _I’ve_ gotta go, I can’t be here,” Billy babbled. “I have to get out of here.”

 

“Billy listen to me, you’re in shock,” Goodnight said, taking a hesitant step towards him.

 

“Don’t!” Billy barked out. Goodnight flinched and Billy’s chest tightened and the Billy Rocks part of him wanted to reach out and soothe the expression away, but then the panic of an eighteen-year-old boy who had just realized he was a murderer took over again.

 

“I can’t, I can’t do it, Goody,” he pleaded.

 

“Do what?” Goodnight asked.

 

“ _This_ ,” Billy burst out, gesturing around the room, and to Goodnight himself. “I’m not – I don’t belong here, Goody!”

 

“Billy, what are you saying?” Goodnight asked looking distressed.

 

“I’m saying I have to _go_ ,” Billy said again.

 

“Go?” Goodnight asked. The concern in his voice had graduated to fear but it was lost on Billy.

 

“ _Stay_ , Goody,” he said, panicked that he had ever let Goody see this part of him. “Don’t come after me, I’m just…I don’t deserve you,” Billy said imploringly.

 

Goody’s whole face went white.

 

“You can’t think that,” he whispered. “Tell me you don’t really think that.”

 

“I can’t be with you! I don’t belong in your world!” Billy shouted, silently begging Goody to understand.

 

“Billy, you _are_ my world!” Goodnight shouted back, and Billy shut his eyes, wishing he could shut his ears too. He shook his head desperately.

 

“No, no, I…I have to go,” he repeated, practically wringing his hands, a drop of blood on them falling to the floor. He flinched when he saw it. There’d been so much blood on the kitchen floor the first time, gushing out of his master’s throat, seeping out onto the tiles, coating the tight, uncomfortable shoes Billy had to wear, a pool of red staining everything Billy touched…

 

He tore his gaze away from the floor and looked up into Goody’s eyes which were staring at him in agonized shock. And he had to know that just because Billy was leaving didn’t mean that Billy didn’t…

 

Billy cut across the kitchen floor towards him, taking Goody’s face in his hands, and kissed him once, hard, Goody too shocked to react. And then Billy was pulling him into a short, rough embrace.

 

“I love you,” he whispered to the side of the man’s face.

 

And then he was whirling around and pushing the door to the backyard open with a bang, leaving Goody standing in the middle of the kitchen as Billy left the house as fast as he could.

 

He cut across the back lawn, past the upended washtub and soggy sheets where they’d been wrestling not even half an hour ago. It felt like a different lifetime. He burst into the stable, startling their horses and he went to his horse, already loaded up, so excited Billy had been to leave, leave with Goodnight…

 

He glanced over to where Goody’s horse was, her head hanging over the stall as she stared at Billy.

 

“Sorry, girl,” Billy muttered, unable to look at her amber eyes.

 

And leading his horse out of the stall he swung himself up, whipped the reins, and was leaving the stable in a clatter of hooves.

 

He rode hard down the streets of Baton Rouge. It was still only early afternoon and people were everywhere, staring in shock at the man riding at a gallop down the busy streets, his hair streaming out behind him since he hadn’t bothered to grab his hat, and his hairpin was still on a kitchen floor, stained with someone else’s blood…

 

He dug in his spurs and urged his horse on faster until he was finally out of the town, past the beaten down road outside of it where all the wagons and buggies came through, and was finally riding hard over the fields, the grass getting thinner and harder the further from the farmlands he got.

 

He galloped for hours, his heart hammering as hard as his horse’s hooves. And finally when Billy’s horse started to wheeze, Billy pulled him into a walk. His horse was practically foaming at the mouth and Billy realized with a pang that the animal was as shaky as Billy felt. It seemed he just couldn’t stop hurting people today.

 

He walked his horse slowly to the trees that lined the river and then slid down, leading his horse to the water to drink. He let him drink for two minutes and then pulled the horse’s reins back to tug his mouth out of the water. He waited another minute. Let the horse drink a little more, waited another minute, let the horse drink…

 

Finally the horse seemed to be perked up but Billy wasn’t about to ride him again soon, fast or slow. He let the horse meander around the clearing, and Billy walked away from the river, his heart pounding as he gazed at his surroundings. It wasn’t the same clearing where he and Goody had camped before going into Baton Rouge, but it might as well have been: it had a river like where Goody had tossed him stones, it had soft green grass like where they’d made love so carelessly, and there was a tree like where Goody had lain, his back propped up against the trunk, crinkles by his eyes as he watched Billy swim.

 

Billy stroked a hand up the rough bark of the tree and spied flecks of dried blood still coating his hands. His lip trembled.

 

And then so suddenly it scared him, he was lashing out and punching the trunk of the tree with all his might, the bark opening up the skin over his knuckles.

 

“FUCK,” he yelled out in voice so loud and out of control he couldn’t believe it had come from him. He sunk down to the ground, clutching his hand, and shaking out of his skin. He forced down the sob that was building in his throat and he hunched in on himself, keeping it in.

 

And there, crouched by the bottom of the tree, he wrapped his arms around himself to stop the shaking, and wished desperately that the arms belonged to Goody.

 

 

*

 

The sun was getting lower by the time Billy could pull himself away from the tree. He got up and slowly walked over to the river. His head was pounding as he dipped his hands into the water to clean them off, the cool water stinging where he’d broken the skin.

 

He sighed and stood up, looking around for his horse which was ambling over by the riverbed. He knew he wouldn’t get any more long rides out of the horse that evening, and he took off the saddlebags. He might as well take inventory of what he had with him since he’d ridden out in such a wild rush.

 

He walked back over to the tree and dropped the saddlebags to the grass, some of the contents spilling out. He sat down and started to sort through them. And as he pushed a coil of rope back inside the bag, his fingers brushed paper. He pulled out the book and realized it was Robinson Crusoe, the one he’d thrown in his pack in the hopes that Goody might read it to him.

 

Goody…

 

Billy felt his throat tighten as he flipped open the first page, his fingers tracing over the childish looping scrawl inside that he had memorized. He suddenly pictured lying on the couch in the library, curled up against Goody, the man’s voice floating comfortingly around him…

 

When Billy closed his eyes he could practically feel Goody’s fingers running through his hair.

 

He flipped through the pages almost frantically, trying to find the place Goody had read to him from, needing to imagine the man’s voice again if he couldn’t have it there with him. It took him a while as he scanned through the pages but he finally latched onto a familiar word. And then his heart clenched as he read through the old-fashioned, roundabout sentences, imagining that it was Goody’s voice that was pulling them off the page, filling the air with words, delicately spinning them together to form pictures that filled Billy’s imagination, his mind, his heart…

 

Swallowing down the lump in his throat he continued to read. The pages were blurry but he blinked rapidly, needing to read more, needing to keep Goody’s voice inside him for as long as he could.

 

He realized eventually that he’d made it a little past the place Goody had read to him, but he still kept going, trying to picture Goody reading by himself after Billy had fallen asleep. He’d probably been trying to turn the pages with one hand so that he could keep his other arm wrapped around Billy.

 

Billy’s lip started to tremble and he suddenly curled in on himself. He clutched the book to his aching chest, a low, keening sound bleeding out of him, one that he’d had no idea he was going to make. It felt like the paper was slicing him in two.

 

Oh god, what had he _done_? He wanted to go back so badly, he wanted to be with Goodnight again. It felt so unnatural to be without him at this point. Being with Goody felt as natural as breathing, it always had, and now Billy was suffocating.

 

He pulled himself together and lifted the book again, and the first word he saw was ‘storm’. This must be the other shipwreck Goody had told him about, the one Billy had almost been asleep by, even though Goodnight told him it was apparently the exciting part. Billy had just mocked him gently but it hadn’t bothered Goodnight at all, so keen he was to share his enthusiasms with Billy, to share _everything_ with Billy.

 

Billy read: ‘for twelve days together we could do nothing but drive, and, scudding away before it, let it carry us whither fate and the fury of the winds directed; and, during these twelve days, I need not say that I expected every day to be swallowed up.’

 

He blinked and swallowed. He hadn’t caught all the words, but twelve days…twelve days was exactly how long they’d stayed in that house.

 

Coincidence, Billy thought. And he kept reading about sailors being dashed against rocks, and with his heart in his throat he read as Robinson Crusoe was washed overboard and sent spinning down into the rushing deep.

 

‘…nothing can describe the confusion of thought which I felt when I sank into the water; for though I swam very well, yet I could not deliver myself from the waves so as to draw breath…’

 

Billy vividly remembered being a child, being tossed and turned by waves, except he had never wanted to leave them. He would try to stay under them for as long as he possibly could.

 

‘…I saw the sea come after me as high as a great hill, and as furious as an enemy, which I had no means or strength to contend with: my business was to hold my breath, and raise myself upon the water if I could…’

 

Billy realized suddenly that he’d never needed to raise himself up with Goody. So much of his life had been an uphill struggle that the easiness with which he’d gotten along with Goody had been a shock. But it was a shock that Billy had practically revelled in. With Goody there was no uphill climbing. Maybe a few bumps and dips in the road, but nothing that couldn’t be handled by two men whose different paths had merged so seamlessly that between them there was only level ground.

 

‘…the wave that came upon me again buried me at once twenty or thirty feet deep in its own body, and I could feel myself carried with a mighty force and swiftness towards the shore - a very great way; but I held my breath, and assisted myself to swim still forward with all my might. I was ready to burst with holding my breath, when, as I felt myself rising up, so, to my immediate relief, I found my head and hands shoot out above the surface of the water…’

 

Billy let out a shuddering breath and lowered the book. He didn’t need to read any further. Because something had occurred to him while reading, and it should have bothered him more, but the fact was this: Billy wasn’t as steadfast as he thought he was. He’d spent a lifetime putting up rock-solid walls, building hard layers, growing sharp edges…he’d thought he was protecting himself with them, getting stronger with them, but he wasn’t. He was hiding in them. Just like when he was a boy who would run sprinting to the beach to hide in the water when everything got to be too much.

 

And here was Billy now, feeling like he was drowning, and he couldn’t even try to swim towards the one person who gave him breath.

 

He shoved the book back into his pack, feeling something resolute settle over him. He walked over to his horse, slinging the saddlebags over the animal’s back as he climbed back on. They walked out of the trees and Billy looked once down the road he’d been travelling, and then back in the direction from where he’d came.

 

Billy had only ever gotten anywhere in his life by looking forward. But he was starting to think that maybe he hadn’t looked back enough.

 

“Hope you got one more ride in you,” he said to his horse, and flicked the reins, taking off at an easy ride, out of the clearing and riding along the tree line by the river, back the way he’d came.

 

The sun had set by now, the evening sky still a dusky enough blue that Billy could see his way clearly. But even when it became darker he could still keep the line of trees by his side, helping him navigate. He’d make it back to town in a couple hours at this rate. He didn’t know what Goody would say when Billy faced him, didn’t know if Goodnight would understand, but –

 

Billy shook his head as he rode. Thinking Goodnight wouldn’t understand was a disservice to one of the most understanding people he’d ever met.

 

He kept riding, eventually letting the horse walk, but he did it reluctantly. He wanted to get back as soon as possible but that wouldn’t happen at all if his horse tripped in the dark, breaking both their necks.

 

He was riding by the tree line, a long stretch of it ahead, when he drew up his horse with a start. There was some light flickering ahead. He kept riding towards it, his pulse starting to pick up. And when he drew closer, what he suspected was confirmed: two campfires along the tree line, side by side, the signal that Billy and Goody used while riding at night, should they ever get separated in the dark.

 

Heart thudding, Billy wet his lips and let out two long whistles into the night.

 

He paused, listening to the breeze whisk through the top of the tree line, the crickets ringing out a buzzing song in the fields, the crackle of the twin fires…

 

And then he heard it: two faint whistles back.

 

Heart in his throat Billy steered his horse to the right, into the trees, picking his way through the woods until finally he came upon a clearing by the river. And standing in the middle of it, and staring into the trees, was Goodnight.

 

“Billy,” he breathed, as Billy’s horse stepped out into the clearing

 

Billy couldn’t speak. He slipped off his horse, staring at Goody all the while, unable to believe he was there in front of him, that he’d come for Billy like he’d once told Billy he always would. Billy walked towards him, overcome with emotion, no idea what he could possibly say.

 

Goodnight took care of that, reliable as ever when it came to filling a silence.

 

“I knew you’d come back,” he said, gazing at Billy, his eyes sharp in the darkness.

 

Billy swallowed. “How’d you know that?”

 

Goody reached into his vest pocket and pulled something out, and Billy realized it was his hairpin: picked up off the kitchen floor, cleaned of any blood, and kept as a way to hold onto any part of Billy that he could. The worst and weakest part of Billy had been tucked carefully over Goody’s heart like it was the most precious thing in the world.

 

“You forgot this,” he said to Billy.

 

Billy looked between the pin and Goodnight’s face which had understanding written into every line. And Billy knew it didn’t matter what he thought he deserved this or not. It only mattered if he wanted it.

 

And Billy walked across the clearing, knocking Goody’s hand aside so he could throw his arms around the one thing he wanted most.

 

Goodnight hugged him back immediately, and Billy felt his head spin at how familiar and instinctually they slotted together, now and always.

 

“Oh God, Goody…” Billy choked out, tightening his arms, a flood of emotion rushing through him.

 

“I told you I’d always come back for you,” Goody whispered, hand going around the back of Billy’s head. “What’s the matter, didn’t believe me?”

 

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” Billy gasped, burying his face into the crook of Goody’s neck, hands running over Goody’s back, feeling that he was really there. “I just…I just…”

 

“Panicked?” Goody asked with a strangled laugh. “Yeah trust me I know what that one looks like.”

 

“I don’t know how you _do_ it, Goody,” Billy practically moaned, tightening his hands in Goody’s coat, wondering if the frenzy Billy had felt while riding was what surged through Goody’s veins on a daily basis, and if so, how the man managed to stay anywhere. “How the hell do you live with it?”

 

“I don’t know,” Goody said hoarsely. He took Billy’s face in his hands and pulled back to look earnestly at him. “I just know it’s better when I’m with you.”

 

They stared at each other, Billy’s heart hammering, and then he let out a sound of want as he surged forward to kiss Goody so hard he felt his jaw rattle. Goody kissed him back and Billy revelled in how goddamn _familiar_ everything was. How soft Goody’s lips were under his, how the man’s beard always scratched his chin a little when they kissed, the little gasps Goody made whenever Billy held him harder, the give of his coat when Billy gripped it to pull Goody in closer…

 

Billy started to shake against him. To think he’d almost run away from this, almost given all this up…

 

“Oh Bill,” Goody whispered, cupping the back of Billy’s head with his hand, and kissing Billy’s cheek.

 

Billy continued to shake. He kept shaking as Goody’s hands soothed him, pulling him into an embrace. And then he couldn’t stop shaking as he squeezed his arms around Goodnight as hard as he could. And then they were both sinking to the grass, Billy trembling and Goody running his hands gently down Billy’s back all the while.

 

Billy felt something inside of him crack open, and for once he didn’t care about appearing weak, didn’t care about seeming vulnerable. He tucked his face into Goody’s neck, and for the first time since he was sixteen and being torn from his house, Billy Rocks let himself cry in front of someone else.

 

 

*

 

 

Afterwards, Billy told Goodnight a story. Told him of a young man, really still a boy who’d been taken from his home to be sold. Of the houses he’d been in and the abuse he’d suffered there. Of learning to shut down his fear, his fury, his entire _face_ , because showing anything at all was dangerous. Of finally snapping and taking his life back and entering the next stage of it. Of hunting down men and overpowering them, now the one in control, but mistaking agency for freedom. Of finally meeting a man who let him feel free without a second thought, and being so scared to lose it that he’d left before it could leave him.

 

He told Goody about feeling trapped in the house, of the memories it brought back, of the hallways pressing in on him, but how the outside was no better, not with neighbours who pulled guns on him. Of missing his ordinary life with Goody so much but being unable to tell him, doubting that Goodnight could possibly see the same freedom in their life as Billy did. Of realizing Goodnight felt it just as much, which only made Billy realize how much more he had to lose. Of panicking and running from the one person who could have possibly understood, who breathed panic every day of his life, but still managed to keep on going. Of needing Goodnight as much as Goodnight needed him.

 

Goody listened to it all, only letting go of Billy once to drag a hand over his eyes. There was moisture streaking his fingers when he took Billy’s hand again.

 

When Billy finished Goodnight took in a rattling breath.

 

“Billy, I…”

 

“You don’t have to say you’re sorry,” Billy said.

 

“But I _am_ ,” Goodnight said desperately. “Billy, I never would have kept us there if I thought people were going to pull _guns_ on you!”

 

“We make a living off people pulling guns on me, Goody,” Billy said tiredly, but with the tiniest bit of amusement.

 

“But I still…I still didn’t see how miserable you were!” Goody said sounding wrecked. “I knew you wanted to get going, but Billy I never _never_ knew it was as bad as all that!”

 

“But that’s my point, Goody,” Billy said, turning Goodnight’s chin to him so he could face him. “You didn’t know because I didn’t _want_ you to know. You can’t know what I don’t tell you, and I’m sorry I didn’t.”

 

“I still should have seen it though. I thought I knew you better,” Goodnight said quietly.

 

Billy brushed his thumb over Goody’s chin. “I thought I knew myself better too.”

 

They sat there awhile longer, hands clasped, leaning into each other, staring out at the stretch of river they sat beside, watching the water flow away.

 

“Still though,” Goody finally said a bit hoarsely. “I promise to look harder. Do better by you. Because I never want to go anywhere with you that you don’t unequivocally, one-hundred percent, whole-heatedly want to go as well. Alright?”

 

“Alright,” Billy said, leaning his head on the man’s shoulder. Goodnight kissed his forehead and drew back.

 

“But I want you to promise me something too,” he said seriously. Billy looked up at him.

 

“Promise me you’ll never martyr yourself for me again.”

 

“Martyr?” Billy asked.

 

Goodnight searched for another word.

 

“Do you know ‘sacrifice’?” he said.

 

Billy huffed out a quiet laugh.

 

“Yeah. Yeah I know sacrifice.”

 

“Well then don’t. I never want you to think you have to make yourself miserable on my account. That’s not what this is about, you and me.”

 

Billy thought for a while.

 

“I can promise you I won’t follow you anywhere I don’t believe in,” he said. “And I won’t make myself miserable for you either. But I can’t promise I wouldn’t ever sacrifice myself for you.”

 

“Billy…”

 

“I mean it,” Billy said more fiercely than he intended, turning where he sat so he could look at him fully. “I’d die for you, Goodnight Robicheaux, and I’d do it in a second. It would be my choice and I’d choose it every time.”

 

Goodnight was staring at him with his mouth open a little in stunned disbelief, perhaps so used to people dying because of him that it had never occurred to him that anyone would ever want to die _for_ him.

 

Billy leaned forward, placing a hand on the side of the man’s face, looking at him seriously.

 

“If you ever died I’d cut my heart out if I didn’t think it would break first.”

 

The look of astonishment on Goodnight’s face was slowly being replaced by one of almost agonized awe as he gazed at Billy and saw how serious he was. He blinked rapidly a few times and squeezed Billy’s hand where it was cupping his jaw.

 

“Well then,” he said, sounding somewhat choked. “Till death don’t us part I suppose. But that reminds me…”

 

He got up and walked over to his horse, pulling a package out of it that he brought back to Billy, placing it in his lap.

 

“It’s what I was waiting on,” he said. “Came in right as I was coming after you.” He still sounded regretful that he’d kept them in his town longer than either of them wanted to be there.

 

Billy tore the paper away, wondering what could possibly have kept Goody in a place he hated for so long, but his mouth fell open once he saw what was inside.

 

Goody shrugged. “I don’t know if it’s worth it now, but…”

 

It was a belt. Of rich brown leather that shone almost red in the moonlight, the same mahogany colour as Billy’s horse. But that wasn’t what had Billy’s mouth hanging open, taking in a breath. It was the knives.

 

A cluster of of knives circled the belt, tucked into thick, ornate, silver sheaths that were embroidered all over, the metal engravings as delicate as any needlework. Knives of all shapes and sizes, two long ones crossed at the back, glinting a silver warning to anyone who looked at them. The straps were sturdy but lightweight and contained a number of pockets for bullets, and even a holster. But it was the knives that drew the eye, made the breath catch. They studded the entire length, creating a wicked wreath that winked at Billy as he took it in.

 

“Goody, I…”

 

Billy was speechless as he gazed at the belt. Finally when he managed to tear his eyes away from it he looked at Goodnight properly.

 

“You ordered this?”

 

“Yeah. Well,” Goody said, biting his lip a little. “Commissioned it actually. Was probably being a bit too particular about it, which is why it took so long, but I just wanted it to be exact. It’s got some extra straps for the blades you’ve already got, and I know there are more knives on the left, but for all that you like to pretend you’re ambidextrous I _know_ you favour your right, Billy Rocks, so hell if I’m going to let you leave your left wide open. And before you say anything about balance, that’s what the holster on the right is for. Here, stand up, I want to see if it fits…”

 

He pulled Billy to his feet, circling the belt around him sliding the strap through the wide silver buckle, still rambling:

 

“…it’s adjustable so you can make it tighter or looser depending on how you want to hang, although why _you_ would ever need to make it looser is something I’m sure I don’t know, have you gained _any_ weight since I met you? Here, you gotta tuck the strap in like this…”

 

He trailed off and looked at Billy anxiously.

 

“It’s too much, isn’t it? Is it the engravings? I know they’re a bit showy, but hell you can be a pretty showy bastard when you want to be, and if anyone can pull it off it’s you, and I figured –“

 

“This is what you were waiting on?” Billy interrupted in disbelief. “You got this for me?”

 

Goodnight bit his lip. “Well only if you think you want it.”

 

Billy adjusted the strap over his hips and swallowed. The belt circled around him easily, the straps as soft and supple as a second skin.

 

“I didn’t get anything for you,” was all Billy could think of to say, running a hand over the leather.

 

A spasm of disbelief crossed Goody’s face.

 

“Billy, you just said you’d cut your heart out for me. I’m pretty sure that’s the most romantic thing anyone’s offered me in my life.”

 

Billy’s lip twitched a little.

 

“It’s perfect,” he said quietly.

 

Goodnight breathed a sigh of relief.

 

“So you want to wear it?” he asked.

 

“I do,” Billy said, gazing at Goody intently as he unhooked it, drawing the strap back out of the loops, taking the belt off and carefully placing it on the ground.

 

“Then why are you –“ Goody asked puzzled, looking at the belt lying folded on the grass.

 

“Because I want you more,” Billy growled, stepping forward and crushing their lips together, sinking down to the grass and pulling Goody with him.

 

Billy took Goodnight there in the grass, his hands running over every part of Goodnight he could reach, sinking into Goody as deeply as he possibly could. Goody was quieter than usual throughout, the way his head was thrown back onto the grass and the arch of his back saying more than he could. Aside from one whisper in Billy’s ear - _‘take anything you want’_ \- he just offered himself up to Billy while letting out a series of breathless pants that had the shape of Billy’s name. If it had a flavour of urgency that wasn’t usually present in their coupling, that was probably understandable. But for all that it was desperate it was never frantic. Billy might have been losing himself inside of Goodnight, but there was certainty and clarity behind every stroke.

 

It was only later, after Billy had collapsed panting onto Goody, withdrawing from the warm heat of his body, their arms tangled, the slickness of their chests rising and falling with their heavy breathing, that Billy turned his head where it was resting on Goody’s chest and his eyes fell to the belt again. He looked at the circle of silver shining in the grass, and something seemed to click.

 

“Hang on…” he said slowly, still breathing hard. “That’s a ring, isn’t it?”

 

“Huh?” Goodnight asked dazed, sounding absent about it but a bit too studiously so.

 

Billy turned his head away from the belt to sit up and look at Goodnight.

 

“Goody…is that a ring?” he asked again.

 

Goodnight weakly waved a hand, looking a bit sheepish.

 

“Well I’d be lying if I said the metaphor hadn’t occurred to me but I wasn’t –“

 

“Did we –“ Billy got out, looking back at the belt, and then back at Goodnight in disbelief. “Did we just get _married_?”

 

“Good lord, man, I wasn’t presuming that much, do you think that’s something I’d try to trick you into?” Goody asked incredulously, leaning up a bit, as though Billy had offended his every romantic sensibility.

 

But then Goody looked around the clearing where they were lying, his brow furrowed like he was going over something. He hummed.

 

“But now that you mention it,” he said thoughtfully. “I suppose we did exchange vows…I gave you a ring of sorts…we just had our nuptials…”

 

His mouth quirked as he looked back at Billy. “Well what do you know? When you put it like that, I suppose we did.”

 

Billy felt a surge of shocked mirth bubbling up through him. He stared at Goody for a beat, before breaking out into a wide grin and blurting out:

 

“You son of a bitch! You just married me!”

 

“Well I think by those standards technically you married me as well.”

 

Billy made a strangled sound of disbelief that might have been a laugh as he looked at Goody.

 

“So what, were you just going to watch me wear that and not tell me it was a ring?”

 

“Hey I told you, I only happened to notice the symbolism! You’re the one who jumped straight to ‘marriage’, you goddamn housewife!”

 

They stared at each other for a moment longer, lips quivering. And then they burst out laughing, Billy collapsing back onto Goody’s chest in mirth, the vibrations of Goody’s laughter running through him.

 

“I can’t believe we missed our own wedding,” Billy said, shaking his head in disbelief.

 

Goodnight chuckled as he traced Billy’s cheekbone.

 

“Me too but if it’s any consolation I definitely noticed the honeymoon.”

 

Billy snorted and ran his hands through Goody’s hair. “Don’t we need witnesses or something?” he asked.

 

Goodnight leaned his head up. “The horses?” he asked with humour, and Billy glanced over from where he was lying on top of Goodnight.

 

“Well they’ve seen us do every other damn thing,” he muttered.

 

Goodnight started to shake with laughter beneath him and Billy’s face softened as he took him in. He wanted to join him, but all of a sudden he couldn’t tell if they were just joking the way they so often did after having each other. The glowing space between them afterwards was frequently full of Goody’s wild imaginings and their shared jokes. And this would be some joke, wouldn’t it? As far as Billy knew, these things didn’t happen outside in the middle of the night, they didn’t happen while both parties still had grass stains on their knees, and they sure didn’t happen while both of those parties were men.

 

“Goody,” he said gently, waving a hand to encompass everything around them. “It’s not that I don’t…I mean…” He took a breath. “Does this count?”

 

Goody caught his breath and propped himself up on his elbows as he gave Billy a considering look.

 

“Well,” he said. “Do you want it to?”

 

Billy took him in, his eyes that were both hesitant and hopeful at the same time. That hope in them was what had kept the man going for so long, but it was also what kept Billy going too, what had taught Billy the very meaning of hope.

 

“Goodnight Robicheaux, you are everything I’ve ever wanted in my life,” Billy said decisively.

 

He went and slid a hand through Goody’s hair, leaning in a little closer. “Do _you_ want it to count?”

 

Goody looked back at him with a small smile that went straight to Billy’s heart.

 

“I do, Billy Rocks,” Goody said softly. “I really do.”

 

He reached out to gently brush the side of Billy’s face before pulling it towards his own.

 

“So this is real?” Goody murmured, his fingers trailing down Billy’s neck, making Billy shiver.

 

“Yes, Goody. Yes,” Billy whispered against the man’s lips, and pressed his lips down harder, shuddering at the way Goodnight’s arms wrapped around his back, hands sliding up to tangle in his hair, holding him close.

 

Even though they were already completely spent it felt like they were taking each other all over again. And Billy was used to loving Goodnight until it ached, but he could feel the ache slowly ebbing away, replaced by a rushing tide of fulfillment as he kissed him with everything he had.

 

Eventually they pulled back, hands running over each other’s bodies, and Billy took in how sticky they still were from the last time.

 

“Here,” he said, pulling Goody up with him so they could walk over to the water and clean off. Even though they weren’t wearing anything it was a swelteringly hot summer night and neither felt a chill as they quietly cut across the grass and walked down to the river. The water was almost inky black in the night, and the low branches of the trees on the other side brushed the surface as they swayed in the warm breeze.

 

They stepped in, barely disturbing the surface of the water which was smooth as glass. It was cool on their ankles, and they ran the water over themselves. Billy walked in a little further, the water rising up past his knees, kissing his thighs.

 

“Go on, sea lion,” Goodnight said, his lips twitching. “I know you want to.”

 

Billy smiled and turned back to Goodnight whose pale form stood out against the shadowy night. And standing there in the water, Billy felt something wash over him, something resolute, something certain. It wasn’t the stillness he’d spent so much of his life coveting. It was steadiness.

 

It was a new feeling, but Billy was pretty sure he liked steady more than still.

 

“Come on,” he said, extending a hand. Goody took it in his own, and Billy sunk down to his shoulders, hair fanning out on the water, gently pulling Goody in with him.

 

The water was cold but the press of their bodies sent sparks through Billy as he pulled Goody closer to him. Billy held onto him, running his hands over Goody’s skin to warm him up. And then he took a breath and was dipping them under, but only for a moment.

 

They surfaced with their bodies sliding together, water streaming over them as they wrapped their arms around each other and started to kiss slowly but fervently, lips sliding, every sensation heightened, the water up to their necks but their heads firmly above the surface. The night had sunk deep into Billy’s bones and he drew back with a breath, eyes closed, listening to the whistling calls of nightjars, the whip-poor-wills trilling further off, the slow whispers of the water as it broke around rocks, and Goodnight’s soft breathing as he rested his forehead against Billy’s.

 

Billy opened his eyes and met Goodnight’s, water dripping out of the man’s lashes as he stroked Billy’s face. Goodnight stared back at him, his eyes holding Billy’s soul in the crosshairs.

 

“I love you,” Billy said to him. And he meant every word. Last time he’d said it because he was leaving. This time he said it because he was staying.

 

Goodnight brushed a wet strand of hair away from Billy’s forehead, his eyes never leaving Billy’s for a second.

 

"I love you too,” he said. And he slid a hand around the back of Billy’s head as though he was going to pull him in closer, but Billy was already leaning forward to kiss him again, letting out a breath as their lips met, his arms sliding around Goodnight’s neck, his legs wrapping around Goodnight’s waist under the water.

 

Goody adjusted him in his arms and pushed off the riverbed, his arms holding Billy up as he walked them aimlessly through the water. His hands were idly tracing silent vows into Billy’s shoulders that trickled down Billy’s arms in rivulets. He was really here, he really had come after Billy like he’d once promised, and Billy couldn’t stop himself from lightly pressing kisses to the man’s face. One to where his wet hair was plastered to his forehead…one to where water clung to his lashes…one to his jaw, the damp whiskers tickling Billy’s lips… each kiss as steady as Billy felt.

 

“Go on, say it,” Goody said, the corners of his eyes crinkling a little.

 

“Say what?” Billy asked smiling, ducking his head to take another kiss.

 

“Whatever it is you’re thinking that you think is too selfish to say out loud,” Goodnight said, running his hands warmly down Billy’s back under the cool water.

 

Billy looked at him and rubbed the laugh lines beside Goodnight’s eyes.

 

“I’m glad you’re not home right now,” he murmured, kissing the same place he’d just been stroking with his fingers.

 

Goodnight finally smiled at him, a real crooked smile, the curve of his mouth sending droplets running into his whiskers.

 

“Oh yes I am,” he said, the crinkles beside his eyes deepening. He tilted his chin and Billy bent down to meet him with a smile, capturing Goody’s lips with his own. Goody tightened his arms around him, and Billy let himself be pulled out into the deeper water.

 

And there under the black, star-splintered sky, surrounded by the wild trees, the freely moving river, and the night air, they wrapped their arms around each other and moved further out into the water, taking turns in keeping each other afloat.

 

  

 

**The End.**

 

 

 


End file.
